The Undercover Operation
by ReidxMexLikexAxBook
Summary: Reid is offered to go undercover in a maximum security prison to gain insight to a human trafficking ring. Joined only by Morgan, his life spins into the typical routine of any other convict. Warnings: RxM Slash, violence, and feels.
1. Chapter 1

The Undercover Operation

Prologue

_"In order to succeed, your desire for success should be greater than your fear of failure"- Bill Cosby_

The spacious dinning room had seemed so inviting not even an hour ago. Doctor Spencer Reid can't remember the exact moment that changed. It was more of a process, he decides finally, eyes averted downwards at the food on his plate. Between bites of the casserole and sips of wine, he'd noticed things about his boss that set off alarms. Darting eyes, stiff posture, drinking a tad more wine than the norm, and twiddling of thumbs. The way he nervously ambushed Spencer with the offer of talking about work over dinner should've been a big enough hint.

Sadly enough, Reid had just thought this dinner was going to go as their lunches would- Hotch asking about any "movie" visits, therapy sessions, and coping. The loss of Diana Reid was probably taken harder by the older man than her son. At least Spencer had years to understand he lost his mother years ago. The rest of her life was flashes of the real her- and he's eternally grateful for them- but letting her go was something he'd been prepared to do for a very long time.

"Just tell me what's bothering you, Hotch." Reid sighs. His own mind has finally convinced him that this isn't just some drug talk or encouragement. Nor is it some movie or book comparison meeting. His boss had said 'work,' after all, and that's not a light topic.

"Well, I got a call the other day from an old friend." Hotch starts. His demeanor has gone straight to proper and authority like despite his attempts at keeping things casual. "They're having some trouble with a case and need assistance. I'll admit, that I refused them the second they asked, but the more I thought it over, I realized that asking you would be the fairest route to take. Don't feel that it's a direct order. It's just an offer that you can turn down. That you should turn down."

Reid's interest has immediately peaked. It's not very often that Aaron Hotchner wants to solely involve the youngest, most inexperienced member on the team, in a case. Let alone almost turn someone in need of help down. Before he can even tell Hotchner to continue elaborating, he does.

"Two people were arrested after being convicted of participating in a human trafficking ring. They won't give up information and the evidence was solid, so they'll be locked away for a long time. The issue my friend is having is that she needs someone to help extract information from the two cons to put their trafficking circle to an end. I was called because for this type of work, profilers would be ideal. Tell truth from lies, know how to read the cons' reactions right, and how to get in their heads."

"There's a question in here somewhere?"

"They want someone from the team to go undercover in the Virginia State Maximum Security Prison. JJ and Prentiss are automatically out- it's male cons we're after."

"But," Reid asks, confused, "why me?"

Before his boss tells him, he's piecing things together with his lightening fast mind. Though he'd be skinned alive for suggesting such a thing- Rossi's age would set him back too far. Hotch couldn't- not while heading the team and besides, depending on the length of the case, he'd be away from his son for a ridiculously long amount of time. And Morgan- that muscled physique and tough demeanor wouldn't keep him holding up very well in prison.

"For one, you wouldn't be perceived as a threat by inmates. You're well equipped with knowledge and you can think fast. And lastly… you fit the victimology."

"What kind of trafficking ring is this?" Reid asks, stomach churning.

"Strictly young women and children."

"I'm being sent in because I'm the most feminine?"

"I told you it's not an order, just a suggestion- "

"With all risks of sounding stupid, wouldn't I gain…um, negative attention from other inmates?"

"You'd be with one of the CIA's undercover agents. Caldwell's a pro at what he does, he'll make sure nothing happens to you. All you have to do is work your way into their lives, send updates through the guards, and possibly save a lot of innocent lives. I understand, though, how being locked in with murderers wouldn't seem appealing."

"Can I have a little while to think it over?"

"Absolutely. I told Caldwell not to expect an answer till Friday."

Reid nods. The lights in the dinning room suddenly seem too bright; too accusing. How could he dare put his own safety before that of women and children?

"I should get going. Thanks for dinner- let Beth know it was great when she gets back from work."

"Will do," Hotch nods, seeing his subordinate out, "And Reid?"

"Hmm?"

"Let's keep this between you and me."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1

It's not until Thursday night that Spencer thinks of the offer again. The procrastination wasn't intended- the last four days had consisted of college lectures, paper work, and talking to family's of the newest case's victims. The team is pretty sure it's a local who's sending his team a personal message. How many people find bodies a block away from the precinct that has "BAU" spelled out on them?

So, long story short, the young doctor had not had much time to rationally think through the big decision in the past four days. Now, with the clock reading a few minutes passed midnight, he fixes himself a fresh cup a coffee and starts the debate.

'I'd be possibly saving women and children.'

'You'd be in danger.'

'When has my safety ever come first before?'

'Maybe now is when it should. The team needs you.'

'I'll be with a CIA agent. Few months at the most.'

'Hotch said I should turn it down.'

'Yet he still offered.'

'It was to be fair.'

'It's a learning experience.'

Spencer's argument lasts long after his cup of coffee is drained. Time slips by as he tried countless ways to make the decision- flipping coins, making lists of pros and cons, and even trying the classic "ennie-meenie-minie-moe." He just simply couldn't make an easy decision. His own safety no longer worried him- thinking it over proved silly with what he does every other day of his life. Now, it came down to the feeling in his gut. He's, to put it simply, squeamish. Reid has heard many gruesome stories about what happens in prison. He's not sure he wants to see it up close and personal.

The room around him feels much too spacious. Spencer wishes he had someone like Maeve to discuss it with, but… he knows exactly how that conversation would go. His passed love would say she's worried for him, and he'd talk himself into going. Mainly to prove to himself that he's capable of being brave for the greater good. She'd encourage him in whatever he choose. So why still debate it?

Deciding his mind is made well enough, he puts his cup in the sink and goes about his bed routine. A large sigh escapes when he sees the clock's hands movement since he'd last checked. Three in the morning. At least another three hours would be achievable before work.

CMCMCM

"Hey, Pretty Boy." Morgan grins. Reid resists rolling his eyes as the next part of the greeting comes, "I hope she was worth the lack of sleep."

"Good morning, Morgan."

Prentiss and JJ are gathered around the coffee machine, trying to will it to create the liquid energy faster. Neither pay particular attention to his presence, which gives him time to appreciate the moment. How much longer will he be walking in the doors of the BAU to have normal days? Soon he'd be waking up behind bars- the same thing caging him in also being the only solid protection against the convicts.

"Reid-" A gasp says. He turns to see Garcia, eyes wide, face paler than normal. Her arms wrap themselves around his skinny frame, words flying out a mile a minute. "I hardly ever really look, you know, into the cases that other teams are working on. But I have this scan thing- which Hotch doesn't know about yet- that lets me know if your names are used, and like, dear god- you can't go. We need you here. It's unsafe! Is Boss Man insane?!-"

His brain catches up with the situation, finally, noticing how the girls and now Morgan are gaping, trying to make sense of their frazzled tech's words.

"Garcia, stop. Now."

The firmness of his voice stops her rambling and she frowns up at him, stepping back.

"Why didn't you tell them no yet?"

"Because… I'm going. It'll be safe." Reid mumbles, eyes glancing down like a scolded school boy. He feels bad having not told any of them of his possible departure, but Hotch had asked to keep it between the two of them. Why, the genius isn't exactly sure, but he predicted it has something to do with keeping everyone focused at work for the time being.

"What's going on?" Prentiss asks finally. Garcia's bottom lip had started trembling but her eyes contain no tears. It's a faint trace of anger instead. She turns on her heels and heads to her lair, ignoring the questioning looks and pleas from her Junior G Man.

"Reid?-" JJ starts.

He shakes his head to stop her and walks quickly to Hotch's office. He enters without waiting for permission and shuts the door behind himself quickly.

"Garcia found out and caused a scene." Reid tries explaining to his boss. To his relief, the man didn't seem too surprised.

"I knew it was a matter of time." He goes back to the paperwork on his desk and Spencer takes the vacant seat across from him.

"I thought it over, Hotch." Spencer begins, "And I'll do it."

"I knew you would." He says, voice still monotone and distracted. "I'll call the CIA after the case is done with."

Reid nods and leaves, somewhat disappointed. He was expecting an immediate phone conversation, orders, and some kind of…confirmation that it's all happening. Instead, he finds himself sitting around the round table with JJ, Prentiss, and Rossi, running back over the current case one more time.

Three bodies, each dumped two days apart, behind the precinct. Each baring one letter that together spell "BAU." Coincidence? Definitely not. Another body will be discovered by nightfall if the UnSub sticks with the pattern. A vague profile was sorted-

Male, late thirties. Charming enough to lure the girls into leaving local bars with him. Highly educated- he avoided all the cameras in the bars and didn't build a tab as well as parking down the street so no security cameras caught the vehicle's license plate. Obvious grudge against the BAU, which narrowed it down…not. New at killing according to the hesitation marks on the first victim. Evolving, too- the last body had the same MO of cuts to the torso and slash across the lips, but the cuts had been more exact in places to cause the most pain before death occurred.

It could be anywhere from past employees of the Bureau to families of past victims or UnSubs that believed the BAU made a mistake. Files had been pulled, but everyone had checked out so far.

Morgan walks in to join them, eyes latching onto Reid. His expression is caught between sadness and agony. Obviously, he had gotten Garcia to spill to him. Not unsurprising- she worshipped Morgan's every word as he worshipped hers. He often referred to the tech as the "white girl" version of himself. It was meant as a joke, but God, is it accurate.

"No link to the victims yet?" The darker skinned agent asks.

"Nothing so far," Hotch answers, walking in the room behind Morgan, "they seem to be victims of opportunity that are being used to express his hatred for us."

"And no evidence to help us out." Rossi sighs.

Garcia's clicking heels can be heard before her flamboyant self can be seen. She's carrying her laptop in one hand, typing at it with the other.

"I've found something. A 911 call had been made the night the first victim was, well, victimized to put it nicely. I don't like the sound of "slashed to death." Any who, a 911 call was made to police identifying herself as Bailey, but she didn't include her last name, and it wasn't made with her cell, therefore explaining the ridiculously long time to be linked to this case."

"You have a copy of it?" Hotch asks to be polite. He knows she must.

"You'd be correct." She sets the laptop down and types in a few more keys before the sound of a panicked conversation fills the room.

_"This is 911, state your emergency." _

_"You've gotta help me." _

_"Ma'am, I need your name and location." _

_"Bailey. Listen- this guy- he's not right. My drink…I can't-" _

_"Bailey? Do you know where you are?" _

_"A- gas station? I don't know." _

_"I'm tracing the call, I need you to tell me what the man is doing." _

_"He's- oh god!"_

The call ends quickly with a click and the operator sighing in frustration.

"They didn't get the call trace in time?" Prentiss prompts.

"No, but I talked to the operator on duty, who said they had wrote down the cell's number, and I did my thing- right now it's at a house just blocks from the precinct. Like, literally, he was practically dumping the bodies in his back yard."

Garcia's searching into the address, the rest of the team getting to their feet already.

"And- here's a plot twist for you- it's a cop's address."

"Cross reference that with officers on duty the nights the bodies were found." Reid sighs. He already knows the answer before he gets it.

"Officer Walters was out on duty that night."

"Let's get going." Hotch orders.

CMCMCM

"Clear!" Reid calls, back tracking his way to the others. The last hallway and storage closet has proved normal.

"He's gone." JJ summarizes. "Walters' phone was left behind on the dinning room table."

"He knew we were coming."

"There has to be a second location. The same place where he killed the women." Morgan states.

"Split up, profile him as an egotistical murderer looking for revenge. Why the BAU? Why now?"

Reid lets himself wonder throughout the small home, putting on his gloves as he does so, feeling what the walls are saying- white paint is used to portray cleanliness. Everything's white and neat. Too neat- the UnSub knew he'd be figured out and left everything as a show for them. The dying flowers in the kitchen show he's forgetful sometimes or at least obsessing over the killings too much to consider other things.  
Spencer comes to the spare bedroom and is immediately drawn to the large oak dressers. They're a darker wooden color, standing out from the pastels and cleanliness. It's like having a big X over the room.

As soon as he sees the contents in the first drawer and reads through it, he's shouting for his teammates.

"This explains the why-" He tells Rossi, picking up the papers. "He applied to work for the bureau but got turned down. He applied when they weren't interested in hiring and took it personally."

"Five times in two years? He never gives up." Rossi comments.

"When was the last reject dated?" Morgan asks.

"Last week. Day before the first body showed up."

"There's our stressor and motive." Hotch sighs. "We knows he drugs the girls, takes them somewhere, cuts them open, comes home and cleans up for work, dumps the body, and then goes into his usual cop routine. But we're still missing something big."

"Guys, check this out-" Prentiss comes in, handing over the small journal she found on a book shelf in the bedroom. The opened page is in messy handwriting, numbers written down in a seemingly odd order.

"Coordinates?" Rossi wonders aloud.

Morgan dials Garcia and reads the numbers to her.

"This traces back to a spot in state game lands." She informs. As she sends directions to their GPS, Hotch stares over at Reid and decides to give him a small challenge.

"Why would he leave coordinates and valuable information? Why leave the door unlocked and his phone on the table?"

"It's either a trap or he wants caught. Being that he's egotistical, more likely it's a trap. He wants us to figure it out and run right where he wants us." In another few seconds of contemplation, a piece clicks in his mind, "He probably gave Bailey his phone. He probably even dialed 911 for her."

"What's the best way to handle the situation?" Hotch asks. The whole team is aware of the sudden attention and pressure being shoved onto Reid, but no one dares ruin the moment of the genius's concentration.

"We learn more about his background. If there's a chance he got a hold of explosives, we need to know, now."

"On it." Garcia says quietly from Morgan's phone.

"If not, we surround the property quickly. People distract him in one direction while the rest search from the sides and back. We'll be able to find his location pretty easily- he's an alpha male. He's the hunter, we're his pray. He'll go to high ground with plenty of cover. We need sharp shooters and plenty of feet on the ground."

"No military relatives or anything else that'd say he'd go with explosives." Garcia pitches in.

"Good," Hotch praises before looking around at the others, "You heard him; lets get to it."

CMCMCM

Looking back, now, Reid understands that the take down was ridiculously easy. His profile was correct and the highest point was easy to find and easy to surround. The girl he had with him was making small whimpers through her gag, helping them find their target. Hotch and Rossi made loud noises on purpose to get Walters' attention while Spencer and Morgan crept into position just feet away to the murderer's left, guns steady. A sharp shooter was just behind them and the girls were across their position, ready at Walters' right. He was surrounded and he had no idea.

Before Spencer could really appreciate that, Hotch had stepped too close and Walters raised his small pistol. Spencer and Morgan were faster than him though, they each sent a fatal shot into his torso before his finger came close to pressing the trigger. The girl had been positioned on the ground, a safe enough distance from their target for the shot to be taken.

Prentiss got the girl out of the woods safely as the rest of the team observed the scene. Old blood stains on the grass and leaves, marking the deaths of the past three victims. A gleaming blade rests in Walters' left hand, marking his intentions for the latest of his hostages. How much longer would she have had? Hours to bleed out? Minutes due to his excitement?

Reid catches Hotch's eye as he speculates and the older profiler gives a light hearted grin.

"Guess it's time to go make that phone call."

Out of the corner of his eye, Reid sees Morgan's posture go rigid and fists clench.

"Have you even thought this over, Reid?" Morgan spits out harshly.

"Of course I have."

The agent spins to look at Hotch, leaving his back to Reid to push him out of the conversation. "Have you thought this through? Reid in prison? Man, you know what they do to guys like him in there. The kid can't hold his own. Let me do it."

"Morgan, he'll be with a trained agent from the CIA. He's not doing it solo. We're using his submissive demeanor to our advantage. You'd threaten the convicts' dominance and they'd never tell you a thing. You're too much of an alpha male. They'll trust Reid, find him harmless. It's a good plan."

Silence surrounds them in the woods, JJ and Rossi eavesdropping just feet away, their conversation paused to hear Hotch's reasonable explanation. It doesn't mean either like the plan, of course.

"Let me go in with him."

"Three people going in will add to the risk."

"Then leave the number at two. Me and him."

"I can't order the CIA to step back, Morgan-" Hotch sighs.

"You know you'd feel better with me in there to protect him than some agent. I've taught self defense for years and have more years of defending myself in the field. Reid won't be so alone. It's better I go than some stranger and you know it."

Reid opens his mouth, ready to argue that the team couldn't lose them both, but Hotch answers before he has the chance.

"That's enough for now. I'm calling when we get back." Hotch walks by them both, pausing in front of Morgan. "I'll see what I can do."

The stare in their boss's eye leaves the argument dissolving in Reid's throat. It's a look of determination confirming one thing: as always, Morgan has seemed to get his way


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 2 **A/N: sorry, I must make a few things clear. The reason Reid is the perfect candidate is that he's a submissive type of person. Both Blackburn and Yates (the convicts) are alphas, but they're the timid type. The kind who'd be afraid of associating with Morgan because they'd view him as a threat to their dominance. They need someone who the cons would feel comfortable around- someone they'd never see as a threat. And two, yes, in the current season of the tv show, Prentiss is gone. Never, ever, ever will that be the case in my stories. I have nothing against Blake's character, I just love Prentiss too much. She's like…my woman crush. She's just too good to be gone in my little fantasy world of fan fiction. Sorry for the inconvenience... Oh, wait, no i'm not. Enjoy :3**

After arriving back at the office to fill out the paperwork involved with the UnSub's takedown, their boss had demanded their presence. This time, Spencer knows he means business. The blinds are down and he shuts the door behind Morgan's bulky frame.

"The CIA is on their way here. Expect them within the next two hours." Hotch says.

"So soon?" His coworker inquires.

Hotch nods and gives a little sigh. "If you're going in rather than Caldwell, you need briefed. The back story, fake names, plans,-it's a lot to go over."

"Are you going to be involved? Like, informed between check ins and going over the case with the CIA?" Reid asks.

"I pushed it, but Caldwell promised it's still to be discussed."

"Did they give an official date of when we're going in?" Morgan sighs. He leans himself back in the comfortable chair beside's Spencer, and Spencer can practically feel the tension rolling off from the agent's skin.

"No, but based on how quickly they want you two prepared… I'd say soon."

"End-of-the-week soon?"

"Mid-week soon."

Silence encases all of them for a few moments until Morgan clears his throat.

"If it's okay with you, I have a hysterical blonde to go shower with love-"

"Go," Hotch chuckles.

Spencer waits until the door is not only shut behind Morgan, but his footsteps are retreating down the stairs into the bull pen.

"Is there anyway to keep him out of this?"

"Reid, it's a good thing for him to go with you. You won't be so alone and two profilers is always better than one. It'll be a miniature version of our team doing a big job. And the CIA is going to owe us for all of this."

"I get it," Reid says, hanging his head, "But doesn't the team need us?"

"I filled the director in on everything; he suggested we bring in a few new agents to train them. That way, they'll be able to fill in next time someone gets hurt or we're under staffed."

"That's a bit risky- you'd be babysitting on a case. They could ruin everything."

"Some risks are worth the rewards."

Reid could barely believe how easily his boss is taking this. Just a week ago he was kindly asking Spencer to decline the CIA's offer, and now he's not only sending Morgan as well, but planning new replacements with the director?

"I hope this'll all pay off." Reid mumbles, getting to his feet and heading for the door. Hotch says something of equal enthusiasm behind him, but the young genius doesn't bother to turn around. He heads straight to the bathroom and locks the door behind himself.

The mirror shows his lanky frame draped with his favorite purple dress shirt. It's all the same as the last time he looked in a mirror. All but his face, anyways. The bags under his eyes have darkened and his hair is sticking up in awkward places. Morgan was right about one thing- he would not do well in jail.

What would happen when cravings hit? When cons start gravitating to him? Spencer realizes he could make one wrong move, tip the cons off to the operation, and find himself and Morgan dead in a matter of minutes. It's prison- no one but the guards will defend feds.  
Spencer runs water from the sink until it's freezing cold. The feeling of it splashing against his face helps return some color in the pale complexion. A knock on the door has him hurrying to turn the sink off, wipe his face, and unlock the door in hurry.

"You okay, kid?"

Reid rolls his eyes. If he knew it was Morgan, he would've just ignored the knock.

"Morgan, you don't have to do this."

"I just asked a simple question-"

"I mean about the prison."

"Of course I do, Pretty Boy, you need me." The agent walks past his friend with a little smirk, before bending his neck side to side until itcracks. Spencer winces at the vicious sound.

"No, you don't. I know self defense."

Morgan chuckles, earning a glare in return.

"I know you do, but this is prison. Guys who murder and take as they please. They're bullies gone hard core."

"I can handle it."

Seriousness sinks into Morgan's expression. He's leaning against the edge of the sink, watching Reid lean against the tile wall just feet away, fiddle with the knot in his tie.

"I don't want you to harden in prison, man. That's what Garcia's so terrified of. It's why I'm going. You're just a kid. You shouldn't be doing this job period. No matter what letters of the alphabet say it's safe."

"The CIA never said it was safe," Reid grins, hoping to add humor to Morgan's comment.

"Good thing I'll be there to whoop some ass for you."

"I don't need you to."

"For the last time- I'm going. We're a team, got it?"

Spencer bites his lips, liking the way it sounds. Him and Morgan, doing this together. Someone to talk over the cravings with, profile with, and someone he can rely on to defend him when he fails. Guilt says not to let this happen, but the fact that Morgan's so willingly _offering_-

He finds himself nodding and leaning into the hand that pats his shoulder before his coworker leaves him alone in the bathroom once more.

CMCMCM

It only takes an hour and a half for the CIA to show up. It's almost obvious that the men don't belong in Quantico's office- their suits are tailored perfectly, their guns are well secured and at the ready, and all seven of them have an aura of undeniable intelligence. Hotch opens his door and walks down to meet them.

"Agent Caldwell." Reid's boss greets the first man.

Spencer's not sure exactly what he was expecting Caldwell to look like, but definitely not this. He's not much older than Hotch but he's much more tough looking. Tall and well built, but not nearly as much as Morgan. His face has sharp features around his dark, nearly black colored eyes. His hair is kept in a buzz cut- his whole appearance is clearly shouting ex-military.

"Can we talk with the agents somewhere private?" Caldwell asks.

"Absolutely. Follow me."

Hotch leads the group of men to the briefing room as Reid and Morgan get up from their seats and share a determined look. Spencer is just waiting for his friend and coworker to back down from this, but Morgan ends up walking into the room first and finding a spot near the wall. Never before has the briefing room been so crowded. Hotch goes about shutting the blinds and locking the door to keep intruders out.

Caldwell is sitting in Hotch's usual chair, fingers pressed together, obviously debating his words as he observes Reid and Morgan.

"A lot depends on this operation to go as planned. Originally, I'd decided to go in with Agent Reid, but now I'll operate as a prison guard as the profilers go in. Everything in a prison works on a schedule. There's meals in the cafeteria, free time in the yard, and lights out." Caldwell starts. Now, he stands and walks forward until he's directly in front of Morgan and Reid. Spencer can feel the man's hot breath on his face and feels too nervous to breathe. "That's the life of a prisoner, and for the sake of the lives of eighteen women and children, it'll be your life, starting Wednesday."

Morgan nods first, realizing a reaction is expected. Reid follows suit before the agent goes back to the table and sifts through papers his team had laid out.

"There are two primary suspects to examine." Caldwell announces, going to the board and hanging tow pictures up for everyone to see,

"Connor Blackburn, and Maxwell Yates. Their cells are in the second wing of the prison, yours will be in the third. It's the closest we could get without seeming suspicious. Your meal and yard schedule will be the same as theirs, and your job, Agent Reid, is to capture the attention of them as well as their friends."

A new man from the table, who doesn't bother with an introduction, begins his lecture, "In prison, people works as cliques. The gang bangers, the alphas and their submissive groupies, their hard cold murderers, and the mild offenses. In maximum security prisons, human trafficking is considered a mild offense along side rape and accessory to murder. Blackburn and Yates were caught guarding what we believed to be a meeting for their human trafficking ring. We came in too early, they tipped off their partners somehow and they were gone in a matter of minutes."

"Your new identities will be Morgan Ashton," Caldwell says, hanging up a picture of Morgan, labeled with this alias, for emphasis, next putting up Reid's, "And Spencer Montgomery. We decided to keep it linked to your original names to help you guys in check. Everyday the check ins will happen during the evenings. We'll take you out to where cons go for their phone calls, and you'll have pen and a paper. Hotchner can talk to you as you write down any breakthrough or relevant information. Once a week, you'll meet with me and Hotchner in an interview room to talk about discoveries or to update you guys."

Hotch shares a look with Reid discretely, and Reid notices the relief in his boss's features that the CIA is willing to work with him.

"When Hotchner's on a case, you'll have one of my men to talk to. Remember to keep those phone talks light and off topic from the case. Fold the paper when your done making notes on it and I'll pick it up when I take you back to the cells."

Reid and Morgan nod their understanding, trying to shove all this new, vital information into their brains.

Another no-name CIA agent starts to speak, same tone as the earlier one- bored and emotionless. "Perhaps one of the biggest things you guys have to remember is your own story. Agent Morgan- you were caught with known gang members an also charged with possession of an illegal substance. You can choose what type. Agent Reid- you're an accessory to murder, specifically that of a cop. You may not have pulled the trigger, but your friend did. Understandable? Details aren't really needed."

"Gang banging?" Morgan asks, eye brows raised. All the white guys around the table don't even flinch.

"Would you rather your charge be rape?"

Morgan keeps his mouth shut after that offer.

"What we need to know is the head of the human trafficking ring's name, a possible location, number of men running the show, casual meeting places, and an estimated number of hostages. So far, eighteen victims fit the timeline if you look at their disappearance dates, but there could be more we don't know about. And try to figure out how Blackburn and Yates met the leader." Caldwell says. Now, he turns to Hotch.

"We appreciate the cooperation from the FBI and let the director know, we'll be in touch. Wednesday morning, six o'clock, we'll take your agents to group with a van of new cons coming in. We'll take Reid and Morgan to the courthouse, get them dressed, and have them loaded up by nine. If all goes well, Hotchner, this could be revolutionary work between our two agencies."

Hotch shakes the man's hand and listens to some final instructions about having Penelope add the back stories on Morgan Ashton and Spencer Montgomery into the criminal database. By the time they leave, Morgan and Reid are beyond tired of standing and collapse into the vacant chairs around the table.

Hotch joins them, a sad smile on his face.

"Sorry for the gang charge," he tells Morgan sincerely. "That's uncalled for."

"It fits, I guess." Morgan shrugs.

"Makes you seem badass." Reid says to lighten the room. It works well enough- Morgan chuckles and ruffles Reid's hair in the way he's always despised. Now, it's a comfort of the last shred of normalcy.

"You guys have one day of FBI routine, then you're officially convicts." Aaron grins. "I hope you'll both have time for the massive 'going away' party I know Garcia's planning."

"My baby girl needs someone to look after her," Morgan says, wagging his finger at his boss, "you better treat her right while I'm gone."  
The three men expel the last shred of tension from the room with their half-hearted laughter.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 3** A/N: This long awaited chapter is, well, long awaited due to the holiday season. Happy Belated Thanksgiving, everyone! Black Friday shopping is my favorite time of the year xx Hope you all did well. Enjoy, feedback appreciated.**

A knock on Reid's door came bright and early Wednesday morning. He'd been ready, waiting for it, though for the past five hours. He hadn't even tried to sleep after the tearful farewell with his coworkers at a bar down the street. Well, it was only really tearful on the behalf of Garcia.

"C'mon, Reid, the CIA is downstairs waiting." Morgan's familiar voice calls. His tone is nothing short of a reluctant sigh, which worries Spencer. He shows that much as he swings his door open and stares at his friend.

"You can still back out, Morgan."

"It's not that I don't want to do this," Derek says, trying his best to explain as his friend locks up his apartment, "I, just, I'm worried we're not going to be as helpful as the CIA expects us to be."

"As long as we do our job, they have no room to be disappointed," Spencer says, convincing himself as well as Morgan as he starts down the steps to where his future awaits, "It's us going in there- not them."

Their journey to the SUV is one of silence after that. Neither have a thing of identification with them- their guns and badges had been left with Hotch and nothing can go with them into the prison. Reid feels somewhat exposed without his messenger bag at his side or his steaming cup of coffee at hand.

"Agents," Caldwell greets them as they slide into the back. The CIA vehicles look exactly like those assigned to the BAU and every other federal agency. "To the court house we go."

Oddly enough, the radio is turned on to a classical music station. Reid had no idea classical music had it's own station in this day and age. Morgan looked about ready to punch the speakers out of the car due to his lack of musical appreciation when Caldwell turns the volume down real low and begins to spew orders.

"When you guys talk over the case, remember how close you are and how easy over hearing conversations are. Look after each other- I can't protect your asses at every opportunity without red flags being raised. Guards usually look the other way when things go down, especially in maximum security prisons. People's actions that earned them their place there doesn't result in protection, it warrants brutality and punishment. Not the way most people view the law- but that's just how it is."

Neither passenger in the car speaks up, so Caldwell continues.

"If someone over hears you guys, or has even the slightest suspicion of rats in the prison, they're gunna start talking. Talking means two things- the talkers gain power and the people they're talking about gain beatings. The first few days are going to be the hardest because you have to learn your place and make a reputation for yourselves. If anyone asks how you two know each other so well, you were held in the same county prison, got it?"

"You know, undercover wasn't in our everyday job description for the bureau." Morgan points out.

"Oh, I know. But you little profilers think your experts in everything dealing with shady behavior. If there's one place you'd excel in then, it'd be prison. So think of this as a walk in the park."

Morgan snorts his disapproval and Reid shrinks in his seat, tracing the seam of the leather seats with his fingers subconsciously. The courthouse is just minutes away and the nerves have really started to arise. Just looking at someone wrong in prison could get him killed- in what world is this a walk in the park?

His feelings towards Caldwell are clouded with mistrust. The man doesn't seem to fully respect profiling- odd considering his friendship with Hotch. Maybe it's just the marine exterior the man carries or his superiority, but Reid just can't believe his life will literally be protected by only himself, Caldwell, and Morgan. A small shudder runs down his spine.

"Here we are, ladies." Caldwell sighs, pulling into the parking lot. "We're making good time."

The group get out of the car and go in through the back- where usually only a judge or security uses for entry. Their designated changing room is where a con usually gets formal for a trial, and laid on the table are two sets of orange jumpsuits as well as a cups next to a brewing coffee pot.

"I'll go grab my stuff a few rooms down- you've got fifteen minutes to wake yourselves up and get into con mode." Caldwell means it as a joke, but both profilers know he'll probably be back in exactly fourteen minutes and fifty-nine seconds.

Reid's immature first thought is how bad he hates changing in front of anyone else- including Morgan. Even after all the hotel rooms they shared on cases or locker room dress downs when their own bloody clothes are evidence to an UnSub's takedown. Morgan must've felt the genius's tension because he turns his back to his friend and pulls his own shirt over his head.

Reid mumbles a thanks and hurries out of his familiar clothes and into his designated foreign ones. Morgan's already pouring coffee before Reid's done, but the fellow agent manages to keep his back turned until he hears the timid permission to look.

Morgan whistles, attempting to lighten the mood. "Orange is your color, Pretty Boy."

"Wish I could tell you the same." Reid jokes, taking a cup of coffee when offered and downing it quickly. The material of the uniforms is rough against their skins. Reid tries to recall how quickly human touch can accustom to such material, but he's pre occupied by the footsteps coming towards their cell.

"Alright, ladies." Caldwell says, stepping in the room with a box of doughnuts in hand. "Someone bought a box just for us, figured the polite thing to do would be for me to share."

Each profiler forces a laugh and munchies on a doughnut, understanding that it's the last taste of good food and coffee they'd have in a while. Caldwell's uniform looks to be not nearly as uncomfortable as their own- a tucked in gray dress shirt, black pants, and a belt securing a taser, cuffs, keys, and a baton.

Caldwell reminds them of their check ins, goes over their daily schedule, gives a brief reminder of who Yates and Blackburn are, as well as wishes them luck before they're having cuffs slapped onto their wrists and led outside. A van is waiting where three other prisoners already are stationed. A long chain is brought out and linked through all their cuffs before they're all ordered by a big black man to sit on the left side of the van. Reid is squished between Morgan and a lanky gangster type with tattoos covering every inch of his body.

The one prominent tattoo that Spencer picks out is of a naked mermaid, hair sticking up straight, the tips consisting of snake heads. It's like a drug addicted tattoo artist's version of Medusa.

Soon enough four more prisoners are put on the opposite bench in the back of the van.

"No noise. You keep your asses where they are now unless you want a special introduction to my taser." The black guard says before slamming the door to the van shut and hopping in the driver's seat. Caldwell is upfront in the passenger seat. Spencer can see them both through the metal wire separating the cons from guards.

From where Spencer's sitting, everything reeks of illegal substances, sweat, and high tempers. The guy next to Spencer keeps giving him long glances, and so the genius keeps his head down, eyes glued to the floor. That was his escape all through high school, but it doesn't seem to work now. Just as the guards drive past through the prison security gate, the man scoots closer. As they get out of the vehicle to haul their prisoners inside, the man speaks.

"Hey, man, I 'ure hope you'll be sleepin' with me at night." The tattooed man's accent tells Spencer he's from some kind of Spanish decent. The words register as crude, and Reid can't hold back the grimace that comes to his face as the guards open the van's doors.

As the prisoner's connecting chains are being undone, the gangster lunges for Reid, swinging his cuffed hands and managing to land a hit to his eye. Morgan snarls and jumps in between his friend and his assailant, but Caldwell already has the man by the collar, waving his baton.  
"What's your issue with Montgomery?" Caldwell asks the gangster, who keeps his jaw locked. Eventually he shoves the small man away. Reid had long since got to his feet, trying to ignore the deepening pain in his face and the stares all the fellow inmates are giving him. His eyes find the ground once more.

Once inside the facility, their shoes are taken and they're each given a bin consisting of an extra jumpsuit, blanket, and pillow. Reid found this interesting- he'd thought blankets weren't allowed due to the rate of inmate suicides that occur, especially in high security prisons.

Guards split everyone up and lead them to their cells. Just Reid's luck- the gangster is right across from himself and Morgan. Once they're locked inside the rustic smelling cage, Morgan turns to him and grins.

"A black eye already? You didn't even set a foot in the prison yet." Morgan chuckles and shakes his head, throwing his pillow and blanket on the top bunk, folding his jumpsuit and laying it on the floor. Reid follows his example and tries to find some sense of ownership to his own bunk.

"You'd have been lucky to have me, Montgomery." The gangster yells from his cell. His hand is making an obscene gesture and Reid doesn't realize he's being called out until he recalls that here his name isn't Reid but Montgomery.

Reid turns his back to the man, who continues the onslaught of colorful painted phrases to frown at Morgan. His friend just grins and crawls up onto his bunk to sit.

"Home sweet home."


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 4 **A/N: so, i've never been in prison. I'm trying to make this somewhat realistic, but please keep in mind it's a fanfiction, meaning certain things have to happen to keep things rolling. Forgive me for any mistakes. I've been trying to research, edit, and write while juggling school and the holidays. **

To fill the air with normalcy, Reid takes control of their conversation topic, babbling on and on about all sorts of prison statistics.

"The total inmate population in the world is 211, 195. With the job we do, that seems very small. Roughly 11% of that resides in maximum security prisons like this one. Virginia State's prison is highly functional, we're better off than most, likely cause we live so close to Washington, D.C.. Drug offenses make up the largest proportion of inmates all over the world's prison systems. The average inmate age is forty-."

"As interesting as all that sounds-" Morgan starts, "I really wish you could estimate how long we'll be in here."

"We could try to make the time go faster by making friends or picking up new hobbies. Their library carts go by once a week. You could try reading a bit more."

"Making friends in prison," Morgan snorts, "That sounds like a nightmare to me. I don't want prison buddies. And I sure as hell don't want to try out some light reading."

Reid shrugs his shoulders, sneaking a glance over to the gangster's cell. A small black man had been put in the cell with him, and neither look very satisfied by their sleeping arrangements. At the moment, the two appear to be arguing over bunks.

"Thank God they put us together, huh, Kid?" Morgan asks, practically reading his coworker's mind. Reid nods his agreement and they settle into lighter topics.

"Henry's birthday's next week." Spencer reminds Morgan.

"I'm sure JJ will explain to him why you missed it."

"I already bought his present and gave it to her."

"Well, there you go. The little guy's gunna have to settle for a late gift from me."

Reid smirks, "I also gave JJ one from you incase you forgot."

Morgan chuckles in response, elbowing Reid, telling him to stop thinking so far ahead.

"Should I have already got his Christmas presents?" Spencer asks after a moment of silence.

"That's two months away!"

"You never know."

The older agent drops the topic, the idea of missing Christmas- his favorite holiday because of the family time- because he's in jail, settling in.

It leaves a bitter after taste.

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When action time comes around, both agents are thoroughly bored. Reid smirks, realizing how Morgan is probably seriously taking the 'light reading' suggestion into consideration. A buzzing sound occurs and the cells open a crack. Reid is surprised to some degree- he was expecting guards to personally open every door, one at a time. He almost laughs at himself for playing back how naive that sounds.

All inmates are ordered out of their cells and to travel in a straight line to the infirmary area. Reid stands with Morgan in front of him, trying to stay closer to Morgan than the stranger behind him. He can hear whispers from the other inmates but walking is taking too much of his attention to decipher their words. Reid's skin is cover with a thin sheen of sweat from all the nerves. He can smell the all the danger from being in his position, and his mind is swirling with the fact that he's expected to just shut up and go with it. He does his best, keeping his eyes concentrated on Morgan's back just inches in front of him.

The line stops suddenly as the destination is reached. Reid just barely keeps from running into Morgan, but the guy behind him walks straight into his lanky frame, sending both their weight into Morgan. Thankfully, the train of accidents stop there; Morgan's feet stay planted firmly. As Reid rights himself, the man doesn't back off much.

"Sorry." The man offers, not sounding very apologetic at all. A hand taps Spencer's behind firmly and he barely holds back the urge to run out of the line; away from the stranger's close proximity and unwelcome touch.

"Here we're testing for diseases. Just one quick blood sample, then a quick change of wardrobe. All of you should've went through the drill back at the precincts you were brought in from." A guard announces. He's too far ahead for Spencer to see, but his voice is stern and somewhat arrogant. Complete alpha male.

The line moves up, inches at a time, until Morgan and Spencer are at the front. The guard fits the mental profile Reid had made to pass time- large, lean, no wedding ring, superior posture. He's even swirling his baton to prove his power. The guard's beady eyes take one glance at Morgan and dismisses him before taking a few steps forward and eyeing Reid up.

"What did you do to land yourself here, kid?" The man scoffs.

Reid just stares at Morgan's back once more, hoping it was a rhetorical question. Unfortunately, it wasn't. In a flash, the guard's in his face, pushing him into the wall and getting into his face.

"You answer me when I talk to you! Look me in the goddamn eyes!"

Reid just nods, making hesitant eye contact. The shaking in his body is barely containable. He hates being this close to people, especially those he doesn't know. Hence why he took his self defense classes so seriously back at the academy.

Morgan, as Reid can see from the corner of his eye, is being ushered into the infirmary, and following orders very reluctantly. They both knew that under different circumstances, Morgan would've ripped the guard back and beat him to a pulp.

"Answer my question, boy!"

"Accessory to murder."

"You wanna murder me, boy?! Am I next on your little hit list?"

"N-no, sir."

"What's your name?"

"Spencer Montgomery."

"Well, Montgomery, watch that attitude of yours. Next time, I won't be so nice to you."

The guard relaxes his hold, then practically throws Reid to the front of the line. He's led in by a small woman, but her size says nothing for how strong she must be to work around all this. Her eyes are cold and hard, jaw set, ready for Reid to make some crude comment or step out of line.

"Sit, there." She says, pointing to a chair. There are three stations set up, two women and one man taking the blood. To the side stands three guards, keeping careful watch over the needles and nurses. In the back, Reid can see inmates being patted down and changing into new jumpsuits. His stomach starts to churn at the thought of dealing with that, so he tries to concentrate on the little details.

The light in the room is shockingly bright, displaying the pale green walls. The hard plastic chair adds to his discomfort, but the woman seems nice enough. She's explaining what diseases he's being tested for, and he just nods along with what she's saying, eyes lingering over to where Morgan's sitting. The sting in his arm tells him what's happening but Reid doesn't bother looking as the blood fills the vial. The needle's being pulled out too soon- Spencer takes a few deep breaths because he knows the mental hell that's coming next.

As tape and a cotton ball goes over the needle mark and a guard comes to escort him to the back corner. Morgan is being ordered to undress as Reid is being patted over. Spencer hopes the internal cringing isn't showing on is face. The guard's hands are rough and thorough.

"Strip. Your clothes in that waste bin. I'll hand you these." The man before Reid states. He's white and tall, face speaking of business. On his left hand, his wedding ring has been removed recently- Reid notices how the skin above his knuckle isn't tan like the rest of his hand. So Reid focuses on making a profile for this guy as his hands numbly take off his suit.

It's nothing short of humiliating for Spencer. Having someone hand you clothes, one by one, eyeing you up like you're a dangerous creature ready to strike. He'd love to just shout at this guard, the tough nurse, and the jerk of a guard outside that he doesn't belong here. That he doesn't deserve the dehumanization process he's being given.

When it's over, Reid joins Morgan outside the door. In groups of five, the inmates are led to the cafeteria. Guards stand around the kitchen doors and up on the balconies, keeping watch, but basically, the room is a free for all. Chatter is loud, as is the slams of trays hitting the wooden tables. Everything in the place is white.

Reid mentally categorizes the color as purity and cleanliness, therefore finding it's use here as ironic. The men here are the exact opposite of "pure" and "clean". The guard who led them leaves, not saying a word. The other inmates in his and Morgan's group head for the line to the food so the two agents follow.

"You holding up?" Morgan asks in a hushed tone. Spencer knows he's being profiled- the way his arms are wrapped around himself, eyes staying glued to the ground, and how he's biting his lip too nervously. "Reid, man, you gotta put on a tough face right now. These guys can practically smell fear."

So Spencer drops his arms to his sides, releases his lip, and meets Morgan's eye. It's then that he feels the detachment to himself begin. Here, in this place, there is no Dr. Spencer Reid. He is simply ex con, Spencer Montgomery, and he will follow Morgan's lead and put up the inner walls.

"You good?" Morgan asks for final confirmation.

"I'm good."

They each accept the food set on their trays, ignoring how their appetites disappear just looking at it. It seems to be mashed potatoes and beef but the potatoes are just lumps and butter and the beef… well, it doesn't look much like beef. Small milk cartoons are sitting out, and Reid takes one, disappointed in the lack of straws.

The next thing in question is where to sit. Both profilers go to work to find the least intimidating people, but it's not easy as being outside of prison. Here every choice is bad- the obvious drug abusers, gang bangers, the mentally disturbed- it's like picking what violent death you want.

Morgan sighs and leads the way to where some druggies sit. There's nine total. Their leader sits on the table rather than his seat, his empty tray set aside, telling some great story that has everyone's attention. His muscles are shown due to the sleeves of his suit being rolled up to his shoulders. The man is tall, but he's thin, much like Reid. The difference? This man's bald, all muscles on his twig-like of bones, and his eyes are rimmed red from what seems to be craze.

"Hey, man," Morgan says, friendly as possible, "Mind if my boy and I sit here?"

"Yeah, yeah, we got some room." The guy boasts, scooting himself down an inch. Two seats clear for them. Morgan makes conversation with the guy as Reid sits and scans the room. His mind has reminded him of his mission- and there they are- Yates and Blackburn are at the table across the room, surrounded by some deadly looking men. And just Spencer's luck- the gangster from earlier is here too.

He averts his eyes, praying the naked mermaid baring man doesn't spot him. Not today. When he sneaks another glance over to where his and Morgan's targets are, they're both staring. At him.

"Spencer?"

Reid turns his eyes to Morgan, trying his best to seem focused.

"Markey here was wondering if you wanted your beef?"

Reid takes his milk for himself, sliding his tray of food over to where the muscled crazed man name Markey is waiting, smiling at the reward.

"Nice to meet you, Markey."

The man just nods his acceptance of Reid as he scarves down the extra food. To pass time, Reid eavesdrops on conversations at his table amongst the druggies as his sips his milk.

Lunch time lasts forty five minutes, and then the inmates are told to line up at the doors. Morgan assumes his spot, and Reid follows, eyes locked to the other line where Blackburn and Yates are.

"'Sup, Montgo'ry?" A whispers says in his ear. "That black eye mak's ya look tough. Outta tha'k me." The gangster took position right behind Spencer, breath tingling the back of his neck.

"Back off." Reid says.

He thinks his words had impact because nothing happens next. But then they turn left, into their assigned hallway. The gangster shoves him, hard, to the side and into a wall. Some inmates chuckle or step forwards to join in. The guards do nothing, remaining at the end of the hall as if the scuffle has them amused.

A well aimed kick hits Reid right in his ribs. He bends into the wall to brace for more, but it doesn't come. He risks looking up to find the gangster being held into the wall next to his own crumpled form. Reid gets to his feet, watching as Morgan gets in his face.

"Back the hell off."

"Why's t'at? He yours?" The gangster asks with a snort. He's not phased by Morgan's strength or demeanor. The guards are now ordering people to their cells. Few listen.

"Yeah," Morgan responds angrily, "He's mine, so unless you want your ass shipped back to Mexico, leave him alone."

A guard walks up on the trio as the rest of the inmates scramble to their cells.

"We have a problem, gentlemen?" The man asks, baton at the ready.

"Course not." The gangster scoffs as Morgan releases him.

"Off you go, Fuentes." The guard orders.

Fuentes walks around Morgan, sending Reid a dark glance on his way to his cell. Reid hurries into the safety of his own cell, Morgan closely following. The buzzer sounds and the doors click shut.

Breathing feels like it takes all his energy- the kick hadn't been anything like what the bullies in high school used to dish out.

"Sit, take it easy." Morgan's voice is missing all the venom and stealth he'd shown to the gangster.

Reid listens to his coworker, sitting on the edge of his bunk. Morgan sits next to him, debating what to say.

"Sorry, for y'know- saying that. It was just to get him to knock it off."

It takes Spencer a second to comprehend what his friend is referring to, but then nearly chokes on his laughter.

"You just saved me. Don't apologize for calling me yours. I'd rather that guy think I'm your… well, bitch, than try to make his own claim to me."

Morgan chuckles, letting out a breath of relief with the laugh.

"I'm really glad you came with me instead of Caldwell," Reid confesses after a few minutes of tense silent. Fuentes is clearly watching them from his cell, sending Reid's worries over the edge.

One of Morgan's hands reach out and rub Reid's shoulder. Whether its for his comfort or to put on a show for Fuentes, he's not sure.

"I won't let anything happen to you, Pretty Boy."

Morgan gets up and climbs to his bunk. Reid lays back in his own, trying not to be so comforted by that promise. The attempt goes to waste- Reid's tension soon melts away and he finds comfort in a light haze sleep.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 5

Reid is awakened by the buzzer and the heavy metallic sliding noise of multiple cells opening. Morgan jumps down from his bunk and offers his co worker a hand up. Reid accepts it without a second's hesitation, but regrets it immediately. He dislikes how much he finds himself relishing the other man's warm touch. Even more, he hates how quickly the warmth disappears.

"What do you think comes next?" Morgan asks Reid, pulling the genius from his thoughts. Everyone's created a line, a different guard at the front, saying orders, none of which the back of the line could hear.

"Yard time probably. Or today could start our shower cycle. We only get them twice a week."

Morgan wrinkles his nose in disgust at the small number before motioning Spencer in front of him in the line. Probably a safety precaution after what happened last time.

To get to the unknown destination, the line of prisoners are led down three long hallways, all of which containing identical prison cells stretching on and on. Of course the men in the cells aren't lifeless and aged as Spencer had anticipated. Most are yelling at the group of newbies, screaming crude things while rattling their cell doors. They're all energetic men ranging from their twenties to forties. A few of the cons in the line shout back, but Spencer and Morgan walk with their heads down and lips zipped.

But as the line comes to a stop and the next hallway door is opened, thus leading to the yard, one scream in particular gets Reid's attention.

"Hey- scrawny! What're you looking so scared for? Don't you want to hang out with us?"

Reid's eyes scan and find the dark bearded man with large muscles before he can convince himself it's not a good idea. When their eyes meet, the con jumps at his cell's door, adding more metallic jingling to the noisy hall.

"C'mon. A pretty little thing like you will love spending time with me."

Spencer just stares at the man, horror slowly filling his gut. What hurts him so is the man as a whole. From the black, hardened, and crazed eyes, to his death-like grip on the bars, to how he's clinging to the cage like a wild beast. This isn't a man like himself and Morgan. This is evil staring him in the eye.

Morgan gently pushes Reid forward, both hands on the lanky one's shoulders, understanding himself what Reid is seeing. The past three halls aren't humans. They're caged animals.

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The yard is a sight to see. It's made up a decent stretch of yellowed grass surrounded on three sides by the tall, iron fence, and the entry to the prison on the other. Guards stand in towers above the prison, scanning over everyone as the guards who led them out creep back into their building's safety. Metal bars come up for the ground for the purpose of physical challenge in the form of chin ups. Tables and benches are bolted to the small strip of concrete by the doors and this is where Morgan and Reid head first. At least thirty other prisoners are roaming the area, mostly in clusters. Some talking, some yelling, and some silent like the agents- just observing.

"Do you see Blackburn or Yates?" Reid whispers to Morgan, his eyes casually scanning around them.

Morgan doesn't answer immediately, but after a few minutes, Reid can see him nod out of his peripheral vision.

"Corner behind the work out bars."

Sure enough, a group of seven men are seated in the grass, chatting away. Reid's eyes land on Yates first- taking in his lean figure and bushy dark hair. His skin seems tanner outside in natural lights than it did earlier in the cafeteria. Blackburn's physical appearance is much more interesting to look at. His blonde hair is only emphasized by the orange of his jumpsuit as is his bulk. The muscles are barely contained in the fabric. As if the man can sense a staring set of eyes, he looks around. Spencer averts his eyes, just having gotten sight of the man's square jaw and angled features.

"I'm going to wonder around over there. I'll get their attention if I'm alone," Reid explains, "Go make friends. Or something."

"Fuentes is out here, sure that's a good idea?"

Just as Morgan mentions it, Reid's calculating eyes land on Fuentes who's placed himself on a bench, rambling off to three men around him.

"I can handle whatever he tries." Spencer sighs. Morgan gives a sad grin and heads off to where equally athletic looking men are gathered. Reid decides not to head straight to where his targets are sitting, but rather gradually advance there.

He walks alone, ignoring anyone's remarks on his 'pretty face' or 'breakable' frame. Eventually, he's reached his end point and tries to make himself seem as vulnerable as possible. Arms limp at his sides except to consciously swipe at his hair, Reid eyes up the ground. He knows it's working. He can practically feel the gaze of the men just feet away from him.

Footsteps approach from his right. Reid expects it to be Morgan, but when he glances up, it's the one person he doesn't want to see.

"Mont'gom'ry."

Reid turns on his heels, prepared to walk quickly away, but a hand reaches out from behind and grasps the material of his jumpsuit, keeping him in place.

"I ain't done talking."

"I have nothing to say to you, Fuentes."

"Then just listen." The gangster chuckles, stepping close. "You-"

"Hey man, knock it off." This new voice is one Reid's never heard before. It's dark and nothing short of ice cold. It's swirling chocolate eyes that meets Spencer's. Not just any brown eyes- the same eyes that the CIA had introduced him to through a grainy photograph- eyes belonging to Maxwell Yates.

"This is none of your business."

"Yeah? I think it is. He's with us."

The hold on his shirt is gone in an instant and Fuentes stalks off without another word. Meanwhile, Spencer feels like he's drowning in the possibilities of what to say.

"You okay?" Yates asks.

Reid just nods.

"Why don't you come over here before that thug finds some confidence, eh?"

The pair walk over to the group of men sitting with their back to the fence. It's such a defensive position that it surprises Reid. He was expecting these men to be top dog, overly confident, and absolutely murderous. Not pulling him out of trouble and offering him a spot in their corner.

"Thanks." Reid says finally, gently taking a seat little ways away from Yates. Blackburn is two people away, picking at the grass at his side, listening to a companion tell a story involving a motorcycle.

"No problem." Yates grins. "Your presence is much appreciated."

"Is it?" Reid asks, playing into his vulnerability once more.

"Yes sir. You give us something nice and new to look at."

Reid's face heats up though he really wishes it wouldn't.

"You didn't have to help me-"

"I'd much rather gain an acquaintance than watch the possibility get beat to the dirt."

A few low chuckles come from surrounding men.

"What're you in for?" A small guy asks. He's the last of their group, short but weighing enough to make up for his lack of height.

"Accessory to murder." Reid admits, trying to seem shy by staring at his hands in his lap.

"Care to explain?" Blackburn asks, attention now on the group's newbie.

"Not really."

"Do we get a name at least?" Yates wonders with a smirk.

"Spencer Montgomery. D-do I get the courtesy of names?"

"I'm Max, here's Jared, Tyler, Connor, James, Kale, and Sean."

Reid nods his hello and the rest of the guys continue their conversations about motorcycles and high school. By listening, he pieces things together. Jared, sitting to his left, is originally from the south. His accent and charm says it all. Tyler and Sean obviously know each other well- they share a high school memory that's relevant to the moment, laughing over what teachers they pranked and the prom queen they both 'showed a good time' to. They even look alike- siblings, or cousins, maybe? Their jade green eyes have the same depth and the freckles on their face lightly cover their full faces. Kale is the short one that spoke earlier, and he seems to be the oldest of the group. His face is shadowed through the hair on his face and the aged lines. It's James that sends waves of fear down Reid's spine. His eyes are hardened like the beast from earlier, and the man is huge to say the least. It's not from poor physical care- it's from ridiculously good physical care. He obviously lifts weights about the size of his friends, and seems to have power among the others.

Spencer's still trying to piece together the group's dynamics when the buzzer rings and the prisoners are all scrambling up to the doors. Yates walks beside Reid and tension fills the genius's being. He doesn't want to end the encounter without being sure he's got the man's attention.

"I don't know how to thank you for your help earlier…" Though Reid feels ridiculous doing it, he bats his eyes, staring up at Max's face through his lashes. He can practically smell the danger mixed in with the man's musky scent. They're standing just inches apart.

"When the time comes, you will." Yates grins. He closes the rest of the distance, his lips brushing the sensitive skin on Spencer's cheek before making his way to his appropriate line, not sparing a second glance. As unsettling as it is, this definitely proves he's left a mark on the strange man. And as awkward as it feels, it's the job, right?

His targets' line heads inside first, then a different line, and then his own. Spencer sees Fuentes's disgusted looks that are being thrown his way, as well as a few curious ones, but he ignores everything when he feels Morgan's warmth just behind him.

"We'll talk inside." Morgan says. His voice doesn't sound as soft or as gentle as it usually does though, and worry spikes through the young agent instantly. Thoughts tumble around in his head as they make their way past the seemingly endless hallways of broken, caged men. By the time they reach their own, Reid's biting his lip and driving his brain into over drive.

"Kid, calm down." Morgan whispers as they walk in their cage. "You're thinking so hard it hurts my brain."

"I just- you sounded kind of mad before we came in."

Morgan's big brown eyes stare at his friend for a few seconds before glazing over with guilt.

"Don't you dare be scared of me, kid. Ever."

Spencer shrugs. "It's not really you," he scans the concrete floor as he speaks, "It's more so our surroundings. We're far away from the office and all our normal rules."

"Normal rules?"

"I mean- the courtesy. Among co workers. I know, the team usually pushes those boundaries anyhow, especially with you and Garcia, but-"

"Are you afraid because we're in jail I'm not going to treat you the same?"

"Um…"

Morgan gives a small breath of disbelief. "Reid, your family. No matter where we are. I was just…okay, yeah, I was angry. But not at you."

"You can't call me 'Reid' anymore." He says, though it kills him to do so.

Derek grabs Reid's arm and leads him over to the beds. They sit close beside each other so they can talk freely in a low tone.

"Look, I was just worried. It's the first day and you already have a dangerous admirer and Yates kissing you, playing hero. What if you got too much of his attention in one day?"

"That's not possible," Spencer scoffs, "That's the point of us being here. To make a bond with Yates and Blackburn, profile them, work our angles, and get information. I'm past stage one and working on stage two."

Morgan wrings his hands and eventually gives a small nod. Reid tries to profile his rigid posture but the profiler is trying to keep himself as closed off as possible.

"You need to keep me updated, okay? My life wondering around with gang bangers isn't much fun."

Morgan's trying to make it a joke, but the younger man immediately feels guilty for not asking about his adventures earlier.

"What happened?"

"Nothing, really. Met some pot heads who kept trying to plan their escape or some way to sneak something in. They're just too stupid. You think once a substance got you here, you'd learn to live without it. Nope, this is just some obstacle for them. A challenge until their next big hit."

"How are you mixing with them? You don't have experience to share…" The look on Morgan's face stops Spencer's words, "Oh, you do?"

"Look, high school was time for trying new things. I never got in deep, but had my fair share of nights spent lighting up with some friends."

"Happens, I guess." Spencer nods, wrapping his head around this new information about his friend.

"C'mon, you must've done something illegal in your time."

"My friend Ethan got me drunk when I was twelve. He was a child prodigy type too and we read this book that talked a lot about the affects drinking had, and- um, well, we were both curious so he stole a bottle of hard liquor from his dad's house."

"And? Was it worth the curiosity?"

"No," Reid chuckles, "It absolutely sucked."

A few minutes pass as the couple go on, sharing their most daring adventures. By the time the last relevant story had been shared on Morgan's behalf, Reid frowns.

"How'd you do that?" He asks.

"Do what?"

"Make me forget for a second that I was in prison for accessory to murder."

"Oh, that." Morgan laughs. "It's a little something called changing the subject. And on that note, you have to tell me everything that happened earlier with you and Yates."

As Spencer relives the events, a corner of his mind takes the time to wonder. He wonders how this is going to change him and Morgan. Surely all this time together will just push them away afterwards? At one point or another Morgan is bound to realize that Spencer isn't special like the team makes him out to be. Eventually, Morgan will realize how messed up Spencer is, right?

The thought of these warm brown eyes pushing him away sends a shock of pain right through Spencer's chest. He can't let that happen.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 6

Spencer bounces his knee, listening to Morgan's light snores above him. He can already feel his body losing track of time after just twenty four hours of being in the place. The previous night's dinner time went exactly like lunch just hours before, and just a few hours ago, breakfast was hardly any different. The only note-worthy change in routine was when he caught Yates looking at him across the room and waved.

Everything is setting Spencer on edge. From seeing the little smug grin on Yates's face, to settling into a convict's routine, to hearing Morgan's snores. How can he even sleep? Yes, the napping option is always pleasant, but right now, Reid's body is polluted with energy. With energy comes anxiety since he doesn't have any cases to be thinking over.

Reid glances to his right to peer over at Fuentes's cell. He'd heard arguing not to long ago, then a harsh flesh-hitting-flesh type of sound that ended it. As his eyes adjust to the shadows across the hall, he nearly chokes on air at what he sees. Fuentes has slid out of his top bunk and is now climbing into the bottom where his sleeping roommate is occupying.

A cry of surprise rings out before a small struggle ensues. Spencer stops watching when he sees the orange jumpsuits coming off the two bodies. He slides backwards until the cold wall is behind him and he brings his knees to his chest. The sounds coming from across the hall are ones that one would only think to exist in nightmares.

Spencer clamps his hands over his ears and hums Beethoven under his breath. Not loud enough to disturb anyone, but just loud enough to take his own mind away from the present.

The awful, horrifying present.

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Spencer had just gotten through his favorite song when he feels the bed next to him dip down a bit. He removes his hands and his chin snaps up. Morgan is just inches away, hands raised in a defensive position.

It's then that Reid notices that the struggled sounds from earlier are gone, small sobs left in return from the victim.

"Reid, man, you're shaking." Morgan observes. Though the genius wants to ask if Morgan realizes what just happened, he can see that he does based on the sadness in his big, brown eyes.

"That could've been me."

"But it wasn't. I won't ever let someone hurt you like that."

"We're in prison." Spencer sighs, his fingers memorizing the coarse material of the sheets beneath him.

"It doesn't matter where we are, kid."

"Thanks." He keeps his eyes lowered so Morgan can't see the wetness there, because, my god- even after all the things he's seen with the job he has, Reid never wanted to hear that happen. Never.

The thing that's really hitting Reid hard is that he's not safe. At mealtimes, in the halls, during yard time- Fuentes is wondering around in a constricted space with him. He's a rapist as well as whatever else he did to get him locked into a maximum security prison.

"I wish Hotch would've never asked you to do this." Morgan says, efficiently interrupting his friend's thoughts, anger overshadowing his usually gentle self.

"I'm the one who said yes."

"How could you have said no?"

Silence encases the pair and the sobs eventually stop across the hall.

"The guards had to of heard that. Yet they did nothing."

"Everyone here did something to earn their place here."

"Nothing warrants that."

"I know that. They don't."

"So- if Caldwell were standing guard out there, and he heard something happen to one of us-"

"Stop worrying over it." Morgan pleads. One of his hands reach for Reid's shoulder and holds it's place there. "Nothing will happen to either of us. Worrying is just going to drive you insane."

Reid winces at the word choice.

"Uh- that's not- I'm sorry." Morgan quickly scrambles to say.

Reid breathes a small laugh at his friend's panic. "It's okay. Stop worrying- you might drive yourself insane."

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Today's lunch seems to drag by. Markey steals a hefty portion of Reid's food as usual and sulks about one of his buddies having gotten beat up.

"He's in the infirmary, all black and blue." Markey had told them when they pointed out the table's vacant seat.

"Who did it?" Morgan asks just to draw Markey into conversation.

"Some wise-crack named Cooper over in the fifth hall."

"I heard they're sending him to solitary later." A man at the end of the table heard.

"Serves him right." Markey nods before shoving a handful of crackers in his mouth.

Morgan leans over to Reid just as the hair on his neck begin to stand up. He whispers just low enough that no one can over hear. A big smile is placed on Morgan's face and his eyes are over on Markey as if a joke about the distraught man is about to be shared.

"Keep cool, Yates is walking over here."

Reid gives a fake laugh as if he'd just been told a joke. Markey frowns at the two, buying their act just a second before a tap on Reid's shoulder steals his attention.

"Max, right?" He asks, keeping up his innocent and vulnerable act.

"Yeah, meet us in the corner during yard time."

It's said friendly enough and Reid nods, wondering if he really ever had a choice. Yates's eyes flicker over to Morgan and Reid swears he sees some kind of anger shine through his neat composure.

"And Spence?" Yates says, eyes almost angrily turning away from Morgan, "stop tempting me."

Spencer's left speechless as the convict stalks off, leaving a small wink before he goes.

"That guy's bad news, Montgomery." Markey warns.

"He's been nice to me." Reid shrugs, trying to swallow the nerves accumulating in the back of his throat. He wants to promise Markey and the others he's not about to have relations with Yates- but, well, he is.

"Of course he has," one of Markey's friend's chuckle, "he's into pretty faces like you."

"Keep an eye out before someone like that curly-haired bastard steals him." Markey whispers loudly to Morgan. The older agent is eyeing up Reid, obviously lost in his own mind.

"I will."

The words are said absentmindedly yet still have a shiver-inducing effect on Reid. He crosses his legs to keep himself detached but he feels what Morgan's eyes are doing to him.

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"He's jealous." Morgan says immediately after the pair had been locked back into the cell. They sit on the ground, close together, to be able to speak in low tones. "Yates is already trying to take a claim to you- the pet name, the flirting, the glares at me-"

"Why did he come and tell me to meet with him anyway?"

"Maybe he was worried you'd choose me over him. With his possessive personality, that isn't an option without a major blow to his ego being taken."

"He said it like… there's something special he has planned and he doesn't want me to miss out on."

"Yates wants you to trust him." Morgan frowns. "This could end badly if he suspects us being moles."

"He was a human trafficking security guard- that equals strength of the body, not brain. As long as I play into what he wants me to be, there's nothing to worry about."

"I hope not." Morgan sighs, running a hand over his head, "Cause damn, kid,- it's only been twenty four hours and Yates thinks he owns you."

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As soon as he's set free in the yard, Spencer hurries to find Yates. The dark curls aren't hard to find- they stand out from all the buzz cuts and greasy mops sported by the other men.

"Here I am." Spencer says awkwardly, walking up to where Yates is facing Jared and talking away. The convict turns quickly, a smirk on his face.

"Yes, here you are."

The brown eyes are taking in Spencer's face so carefully he's tempted to run away.

"That black eye really does make you look tough."

"Thanks?" Reid responds. Truth be told, he'd forgotten all about the black eye Fuentes gave him. The bruised ribs, though- those still ache continuously.

"About your cell mate-" Yates starts, motioning Spencer to follow him away from where his usual group is gathered, "Is there something going on, there?"

"N-not really. We both came from the same county jail- so, um, keeping a friendship just kinda happened."

"What's he in for?"

Spencer looks down and nudges dirt around with his foot, feeling horribly guilty to discuss the lies about Morgan to this low life. "Gang related activity."

"Not surprising." Yates muses.

"Earlier- you sounded like there was something big to discuss." Reid prompts, eyes going back up to the chocolate orbs. A tiny- hardly noticeable scar resides right under Max's lip. The thin white line blends in oddly well with the light tan on the man's skin.

"Let's be real here, Spencer. Guys like you don't make it through the jail experience very easily. If you'd stick with us- we'd keep you safe."

"At what price?"

Max cocks an eyebrow.

"There's always a price, I'm not stupid." Reid says it as jokingly as he can, trying to ease the tension from his body. Thankfully, Max takes the poorly masked tension as worry rather than disgust.

"Well, I'm sure you've noticed how lonely life in prison can be. All I want is someone to make the time pass easier." One of Yates's hands come up to brush Spencer's hair back. It's so gentle that Spencer begins to get scared at their proximity for the first time that day. When had Max moved this close?

Before he can even get his brain to fight through the terror and just think, warmth is encasing Spencer. Hands are encircling his waist, lips taking to his own, and the body heat from Max being infused with his own. Max doesn't have to bend much to reach Spencer's lip, creating a shocking realization of how comfortable kissing between the two of them is.

Spencer wants to hide because of what feelings are stirred in himself. On one hand, he likes this. Yates isn't rough or mean to him- nor is he some gross man he can easily be repulsed by. Shamefully enough, he doesn't mind this. The fact that he's a criminal should hit Spencer deeper than it does- but Max didn't slaughter or rape innocent people. He stood guard outside a goddamn building at the wrong time. On the other hand, Spencer's body is telling him how wrong it all is. He doesn't want a convict's promises of safety and company- he wants the company and safety he's always known and trusted.

Reid just wants Morgan.

The kiss ends much too soon for Spencer to finish processing his thoughts. He's still reeling over the last statement his conscious had concocted-

"Are you okay, Spencer?"

He nods, still numb. His face is flushed so he thinks fast. "I just- I never really even considered whether or not I'm gay."

"Did you hate that I kissed you?"

"N-no." Spencer admits.

"Labels aren't important, it's how you feel that does. No label can sum that up."

Spencer nods once again, trying to understand how it got to this. He's trusting what a convict has to say, as well as honestly enjoying the way he feels when their hands link together.

"Your friend is watching us." Max chuckles.

Spencer's eyes glance to find that he's right and his face heats up yet again.

"I need to think about this-"

"I figured you would." Max answers, his nose lightly pressed against Spencer's cheek in a display of affection. His lips close the distance once more for just a second before his warmth is completely gone. "Tomorrow, then."

The buzzer rings and Maxwell hurries to his group, leaving Spencer dazed and lost. He can feel eyes staring at his back and he turns to find Fuentes's gaze locked on him.

How, in twenty four hours, has he gotten into this? A possible relationship with a man targeted by the CIA, harboring possible lust for Morgan, and worst of all- he's wound up on the radar of a rapist.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 7

**I have been ridiculously busy with the holidays and all, hope you guys had a good one. This seemed short to me, but I felt that I had to post something. I'll try to make the next one worth while. Enjoy xx.**

The walk back to the cells proved to be miserable. Morgan stayed three people ahead of Spencer in the line and the younger agent couldn't tell if it was due to the prying eyes around them or a more personal reason. The tension in the black agent's shoulders have Reid determining that the situation can't be good.

He's brought from his internal worries when a body slams into him. The group of cons is just one hall away from their destination, stuck among beastly men that shake their cell doors.

The slam lands him flat on the floor- his bruised ribs taking most of the impact. When his eyes flicker upwards, expecting a cruel figure such as Fuentes, he finds nobody. The line is halfway down the hallway, guards just now rounding the corner behind him. He tries not to read much into it, but Morgan hadn't stopped to check on him.

"Problem?" One guard prompts, eyeing his gasping form.

"Tripped." Spencer answers, a hand supporting his side as he gets up.

"Do you need to see the infirmary, boy?" The other sighs. Though he much appreciated their offer, Spencer shakes his head and walks quickly to catch up with the line. He profiles them all- looking for someone's snickers or long glances but he finds none.

They come to a stop in front of their cells, but only a few actually open. Spencer's isn't one of them.

"Today's shower day, ladies." A guard calls out. "Make a line and head up near the infirmary."

They do as told, Spencer giving Morgan his space because quite honestly, his feelings are hurt. It's ridiculous how much he depends on Morgan, but right now, he wants Morgan like he wants Fuentes. Not at all.

Speaking of Fuentes, Reid's smug to notice they don't have the same shower schedule.

The showers, as Spencer feels by just one glance, is his least favorite part of prison. It's a room of twelve shower heads lining the walls, the tile floor on a shallow slope so the water reaches the three drains in the middle. A bin is by the door that each prisoner is to put their clothing in, which will then be swapped for a new one while they bathe. Privacy is nonexistent here- the room is completely open, leaving everyone who enters exposed not only the others in the room, but anyone who looks in the doorway. The four guards are split up- two outside the showers and two at the doors, not paying a moment of attention.

The line is slowly entering the showers, the pause coming from stripping in the doorway. Reid can feel himself heat up and start to tremble at how unappealing this all is.

Two of Fuentes's yard time friends are already in the shower room. They're torturing some short, scrawny man by making him get to his naked knees and open his mouth. Reid turns away, not desiring to see what happens next. It's all barbaric- the way the guards don't mind the foul activities and how the thirteen cons around Spencer, excluding Morgan, are perfectly fine with this.

Spencer's turn at the front of the line has come and he keeps his eyes glued to the ground as his fingers weakly peel his jumpsuit from his body. The room's chill is uncomfortable to the max.

"This basket." A guard says, holding a plastic bin designed to take his only protection away from him. He drops the jumpsuit in, lost on what else to do. His eyes immediately search for Morgan and find him in the back corner, washing off quickly.

The younger agent makes his way over there, his earlier anger at his friend having been taken away with his clothes. Replacing the viciously wounded ego is the fear typically found in a child during a big storm. Each step through the crowded room of bodies is like running to a parent's bedroom while thunder shakes the foundation and rattles the windows.

A hand snaps out, quick as lightning, and grabs at Spencer, hauling him to the right by his arm.

"You can share this one with me." The convict laughs, pulling Spencer under a shower head's spray. The water is scalding hot and a shriek escapes Reid's locked lips. He tries to run away, shaking his head, but the hand holds on tighter, backing him against the wall before a fist flies right into cheek. Spencer gasps, his tears falling and mixing with the water. Crying has never been something Spencer ever felt comfortable doing, let alone in the presence of others, but here the storm is raging out of control. His safety seems to be nowhere to be found. He finds himself pleading internally for Hotch to come save him, ridiculously enough. Reid will never admit how much of a father figure his boss has become aloud but he really has.

Another hit gets Reid right in the jaw, the bone seeming to go soft under the impact. While he's reeling from the pain, he's turned around by the convict's meaty hands and pinned to the wall. The naked body behind him is clearly aroused- the proof rubbing against Spencer's back.

"Please, leave me alone." Spencer whimpers, wishing his body would stop reacting with such heightened fear.

The con is ripped away with such force that Reid almost topples over. Morgan has the guy on the ground and he's pounding his face in, his knuckles flying, showing this man no more mercy than he would an UnSub at work. What Morgan told him that morning rings in his ears.

_"I won't ever let someone hurt you like that."_

Three big guys that must be acquaintances to Reid's assailant jump in to stop Morgan, throwing fierce punches of their own. It's a scene from a horror story- fog, blood, and unfathomable brutality.

"Stop it!" Spencer hisses, throwing himself on the nearest guy, his arms wrapping around his neck into the choke hold Morgan taught him long ago. His grasp is weakened when the man runs backwards into a wall- resulting in Spencer's ribs and spine exploding with pain. The con turns around and fists rain down until the guards have come to their senses and stop the chaos with their batons raised. Once the man is pulled off the young doctor, Spencer raises his arms in front of his face in surrender, silently pleading for the guard not to hit him.

The motion doesn't work, though. The baton is brought down, harshly, cracking against Spencer's raised arms, hitting his wrist with brute force. The young doctor swears he feels it crack.

"UP!" The guard screams at him. Spencer wobbly gets to his face, noticing that the water running to the drains is pink rather than clear. A steady red stream is snaking its way down Reid himself, but the adrenaline and fear is peaking too high for him to truly feel the blood's origin.

He follows the guard's orders to get to the exit and then he dresses eagerly after quickly patting down with a towel. It didn't do much other than dot the white fabric with bright red.

Morgan suddenly appears by his side, his knuckles bloody and swollen and his face already forming bruises.

"Here." Morgan says, voice tired and sad, pressing a clean towel to Reid's lip and a tender spot that Reid's slow mind pieces to be his nose. He goes to help apply pressure, but his wrist recoils at the slightest pressure. Morgan notices and frowns. "Broken?"

Spencer shrugs, which they both know actually means "yes" and they head off to the infirmary together when a group of guards come for them. The others hurt in the fight are being led to another infirmary to avoid conflict. Morgan nudges Spencer's arm and nods his head towards one guard. It's then that Reid realizes it was Caldwell, his back turned to both of them.

One of Morgan's arms wrap itself around Spencer's midsection to help him walk faster. Reid greedily leans into it, his mind clouding but not quite letting itself shut down.

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Five guards supervise the nurses. They immediately wrap Spencer's wrist tightly, weakly explaining that they can't put a cast on it right then. He'd have to go to a hospital for that. The women wipe the blood off his face, the cool wet clothes causing irritation rather than comfort. One pokes at his jaw, voicing her worry that it could break if he's not careful. As if getting punched in the face was just a silly accident.

Morgan just needs his knuckles wrapped up with some cream to stop infection from setting in before the pair are sent back to their cell. As soon as they're inside, Spencer feels Morgan's gentle hands on his shoulder.

Shockingly enough, the hands pull Reid to him until the lanky man is against his chest. The warm arms wrap around him in an embrace that would normally be given to Garcia and absolutely no one else.

"I'm so sorry, kid."

"For what?" Reid mumbles, his eyes drooping. He seems to be able to breathe easier here in Morgan's grasp.

"For being mad about Yates kissing you." Morgan responds, his voice filled with guilt and shame. "I ignored you when you needed me."

"W-why did it bother you?"

"C'mon, pretty boy, we both know having a relationship with an UnSub won't lead to anything good. It's unfair that you're being forced into this." The arms drop and Spencer sits on the edge of his bed to keep Morgan from looking him in the eye as he spoke.

"I was wondering if the CIA is right. Yates- he's not a bad person. At least, I haven't seen it if he is. He offered me protection if I'd keep him company. When he kissed me it wasn't like the guy in the shower's- he wasn't mean or forcing me to do a thing."

Morgan's silent for a few minutes then kneels in front of Spencer's trembling form.

"Reid- are you crushing on Yates?"

"I- I, um, can't, uh-"

"I didn't even know you were gay." Morgan chuckles. The reaction is unexpectedly light hearted.

"You don't, um, mind?"

"I don't care about either, kid. You can't control who you like," Morgan says with a sad grin, one hand reaching up to trace the gash below Reid's lip, "I know all about that one. Now why don't you get some sleep before you fall over? You'll be feeling it all tomorrow."

The older agent climbs up in his own bed, leaving room for nothing further to be discussed. Reid leans into his pillow, trying to find some kind of control in his life but finding none. He can't control the pain pulsing through his body nor the fluttering of his heart.

It's beyond maddening.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 8

When Spencer wakes up the next day, it's to the sound of Morgan doing his morning routine of using the bathroom and brushing his teeth. The plastic little brushes make both the agents appreciate their old life.

Reid's mind is still glazed over with the residue sleep left behind and his body is warm and well rested. A big change compared to the other times he'd wake up in a panic or fatigued state.

"You're up." Morgan observes, turning to Reid.

"Sorta."

"How bad is it?"

For a brief second, Reid is at a loss for what Morgan means. But the young genius moves a quarter of an inch and the blistering pain nearly chokes him. His muscles hurt like an athlete's during conditioning for the season. He automatically cradles his wrist to his chest, contemplating how to get out of the bed with the least amount of pain.

"It's not pleasant." He offers when he notices Morgan's still waiting for a response. The older agent hurries over and helps him slide out of the bunk by keeping a firm hold on his good arm, even when his legs turned to jelly as he stood.

"What time do you think it is?"

"Probably late morning." Reid shrugs- an action he regrets just a second later. He starts about doing the same routine as Morgan, muscles protesting all the while, but is interrupted while brushing his teeth.

Their cell buzzes, the door clicking open. Boots on the concrete hallway floor bring them both to alertness. Reid hurriedly rinses his mouth, ready for some kind of confrontational guard. It's only Caldwell, though, a small smirk on his stony face, two sets of metal wristlets in hand.

"You both have visitors. Right this way."

Reid tries to keep his shoulders from hunching at the thought of seeing Hotch as the handcuffs are slapped on Morgan and himself. He's sure his boss won't exactly be pleased with either of their appearances. Morgan's face is bruised and swelled and Reid's sure he's not any better.

They appear to be the average convicts.

The walk down the hall is kept silent, the group very aware of the criminals watching as they go. Reid's wrist is throbbing with the extra weight the metal handcuffs apply, but he holds in his protests.

Caldwell leads them in the direction of the cafeteria, but swings a right, then another. They end up passing through solitary confinement in order to reach the hidden interrogation room. Inside stands two CIA members from the briefing as well as Hotch.

The room itself is just like any other interrogation room- solid walls, concrete floors, single exit and entrance. Usually, when visiting a prison to talk to inmates, one guard stands outside, but Caldwell is in on this charade so he doesn't bother giving privacy. He points Reid and Morgan to seats when he's removed their handcuffs and leans on the wall by the door.

"I've been told you've been keeping out of trouble." Hotch says, eyeing them up, expression unreadable.

"This just happened last night." Morgan explains.

"Agent Reid, has there been any improvement on the case?" One CIA agent asks, straight to the point. Spencer bites his lip for a moment.

"Yates has made me an offer…"

"You're already on talking terms?" Hotch wonders aloud.

"Elaborate?" The CIA agent prompts.

"Umm, he offered me protection for companionship."

"A stable friendship, or-?" The other CIA agent asks.

"A romantic relationship."

"Tell them about the kiss, Reid." Morgan interrupts.

"What?-" Hotch gasps. The CIA stays silent, sensing how sensitive the situation is. Boiling rage and irritation is at the surface of the unit chief's expression, and Reid's internal self is feeling the same. His frustration, however, is directed at Morgan rather than Yates. His best friend just threw him under the bus rather than letting him cross the subject himself with time.

"It was just to put emphasis on his offer." Reid sighs, "It seems Yates is falling for the plan easy enough."

"Was it him and Blackburn that did this?" Hotch asks, voice tight. His boss's gaze has locked o Reid's broken wrist.

"No." Reid is quick to answer.

"Care to tell me who, then?" Hotch further pesters, eyebrows raised. He's clearly not about to let the matter go.

"A guy was giving Reid a hard time in the showers yesterday." Morgan says, eyes locked to his hands. "I made him back off and it ended with his friends jumping in."

Silence encases the room for what feels like hours. Hotch's face is clouded over when Reid looks up and his own mind wonders what scenario his boss has pictured. Is the look one of disgust for his subordinate or one of sympathy?

"What's the older bruise from?" A cool hand reaches out, tilting Reid's chin upwards until eye contact is made. The CIA men have distracted themselves with jotting down notes.

"A guy has it out for me, I guess. Fuentes."

"I'll have Garcia look into it and let you know what his story is next week."

"Well, actually," Caldwell interrupts, "Doctor Know-It-All has to go to the hospital to have his wrist set and put in a cast. I already signed up to take a van of inmates to the Mercy General Hospital on Sunday. You and your team could have some visiting time there. I'll call you tonight to go over the finer details."

Hotch turns his attention to Morgan. "You have a concussion from the fight, got it? I'll have Garcia hack the prison's system and put your name on the hospital list."

"My girl better come to this get together, Hotch." Morgan smirks.

"As if security could keep her away." Their boss smiles.

The CIA steps forward and asks a few more basic questions- who they eat lunch with, who they are with during yard time, ect. Reid gives a full list of the guys Yates introduced him to while Morgan goes through his yard pals as well as Markey and his crew.

The visiting time comes to an end. Both the agents can see the pained look on Hotch's face while Caldwell slaps the handcuffs back on, this time being extra gentle with Reid's broken wrist.

The farther Reid walks down the hall, away from his boss, the heavier his heart feels. It's like the few minutes with Aaron and the CIA gave the young doctor a peace of mind that prison had taken away. And to think it's only their third day there.

"It's lunch time in a few minutes. Y'all slept through breakfast. I'll set you guys loose down there." Caldwell says, leading the pair to the cafeteria. It's nearly empty, which is a relief. "Your shower schedules are change. They were Sunday and Thursday, now it's Tuesday and Friday."

"Do we really have to go today?" Morgan frowns.

"Suck it up." Caldwell chuckles before stalking off.

"Lunch smells good today at least." Reid says. His voice is too monotone to bring a smile to Morgan's face though. In the genius's head, all the possibilities of bad situations are playing. Will the new shower day bring a better or worse experience? His wrist complains, giving a sharp sting.

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Reid had just loaded his tray and was about to follow Morgan to their seats when a hand grabs his arm to stop him. It's Max. Unfortunately enough, Max's grasp on his good arm put all the weight of the tray onto his broken wrist, nearly sending it crashing to the floor. Max's quick thinking saves it- he takes hold of the tray at the last minute.

"I heard there was a fight." Yates explains in one breath. His face is flushed, eyes latched into Reid's battered body. The agent's heart swells instantly, profiling Max's reaction as worry.

"Yeah, but Morgan helped before it got out of hand."

Max nods once and sighs. "Guess I owe that bastard."

"No, you don't…" Reid blushes. The words had been said as if Morgan did the convict some personal favor by playing hero. The claim Yates has taken to Reid is definitely real.

"Have you thought over my offer, Spencer?"

Reid nods.

"Don't leave me in suspense."

"It's a good deal."

His words are met with a quick peck on the lips. Spencer's mind is still spinning when Yates takes his tray from his limp hold and leads them to Markey's table. Yates sets the tray down in front of Spencer's usual seat and gives a small grin and lingering squeeze of the hand before walking off.

Reid sits down, face neutral but dizzy on the inside. He expected the deal to feel more like a life sentence rather than…well, gaining a boyfriend.

_Boyfriend…_

Reid can't decide how he feels about the word. It's foreign to his lips. Never before has he had a legitimate one- one that wanted to squeeze his hand, check in, carry his tray, or kiss.

"Earth to Spencer…" Markey is saying. Reid blinks his eyes, handing over the muffin on his tray without having to ask what it is the man wants. He starts digging into the hot, slop of a turkey sandwich on his tray. Everyone around him leaves him to his thoughts, even Morgan.

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Yard time comes quick.

One minute, Reid is walking next to Morgan, the next he's sitting among his boyfriend's group. No one questions his presence, just goes about prison complaints. Jared sparks conversation about the book cart going around which really captures Reid's interest. Apparently it's a weekly event, saved specially for Saturdays. At least that's something to look forward too.

"Max," Reid asks during a quiet moment. The curly haired man looks down at him, locking their fingers. "What did you do to get you here?"

The circle goes quiet and Reid nearly regrets his bold question. A second later it pays off though- Max starts to speak with a low sigh.

"I stood guard for some guys who were doing some… not so nice things."

"What kind of things?"

Max stares at the ground for a few moments.

"They were running some kind of group. They kidnapped people and sold them for the fun and financial benefits. I needed the money, so-"

"Like, human trafficking?" Spencer asks, raising his voice in mock surprise, eyes widening.

"Yeah, that's what they call it in the law, anyway."

"Why didn't you tell on the other guys? Take them down with you?"

"I'm not a rat, Spencer." Yates answers, voice taking on a harsher tone. The hand in his turns to stone, squeezing too tight.

"I just meant- the judge probably would've given you a lighter sentence."

"I can handle the time just fine."

These hardened reactions let Spencer know that something's desperately wrong with this picture. He nods on the outside but tries to think what would be so serious about the ring that kept Yates silent on their behalf.

What convinces a man to have himself sentenced to life in prison rather than go down kicking and screaming? All the possibilities swirl around in Reid's head- none of them very good.


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 9 - **I'm so sorry for the wait, you guys. My life has been so fucked up this past week. I didn't mean to get so behind on my writing, I tried to thrown in some steamy moments/fluff/drama to make up for it. **

Spencer and Morgan head to the showers after yard time, each desperately worried on how today's events would go. The first thing that has Reid's heart sinking is that Fuentes is in their new shower group. The next thing is that Yates is too.

"What fun this will be," Morgan sighs, noticing the two men just as quickly as Reid had.

"Shit." Reid agrees. They go through the same procedure as the day before, humiliatingly stripping off and entering the square of steam, water, and naked bodies. Reid follows Morgan, eyes locked only on his coworker's tense shoulders. He's determined to keep his eyes high and avoid all eye contact. Reid wants to avoid both Fuentes and Yates, needing sometime to be privately naked, or at least as private as he can get.

Morgan claims a middle hose, taking a bar of soap, and quickly washing himself. Spencer grabs a bottle of generic shampoo on the ledge and scrubs it into his scalp though the task isn't an easy one. His wrist is throbbing and his other hand just isn't doing the job well enough.

"Let me help you out." A voice says from behind him. It's low and calm, resulting in a rapid heartbeat for the young genius.

"Max- you don't have to."

"I want to." He promises. The convict stays behind Reid, close enough to feel his radiating body heat but not close enough to feel his skin. When the hands scrub at his scalp, Reid's eyes glance up to where Morgan is. The agent is facing the wall, water dripping down over his stony expression. His jaw is set in an uncomfortable way and his muscles are coiled impossibly tight.

Spencer very badly wants to reach out and tell Morgan that nothings wrong, he shouldn't be so upset, but he realizes how in the pit of his stomach, everything is wrong. Reid's homesick, to say the least. He's thirsty for coffee and starving for Garcia's cookies. He wants his occasional hug from JJ and little smile from Emily. The Bureau is his home, yet his home is pushing him to be in this little room with dangerous men. Very naked, perverted, dangerous men.

"You enjoying this, Spencer?" Max asks, his voice a low hiss in Reid's ear. The breath so close to his face sparks a small shiver to run through his body. He can't even respond, he's so out of his element. Being naked with Max, Morgan, and Fuentes in the same room is terrifying and electric at the same time.

Before Reid regains himself, he's spun around and pushed back into the water's spray. It's lukewarm, gently dripping down his body. Max pushed him far enough that they're both under the jet. The water is dripping out of curls and trailing down to his chin. Reid didn't exactly mean for his eyes to land upon Max's lips but they did. The man definitely noticed because those plump lips are pressed against Reid's just seconds later.

Reid's mouth is forced open and a soft, warm object is thrusted into his mouth. The tongue licks inside the doctor's mouth, claiming each and every crevice as it's own. Two big hands curl in Reid's hair, harmlessly rubbing the shampoo out as they kiss. It's so good that for a moment the homesickness, fear, and sadness that had settled into his heart vanish. But reality whooshes back in, bringing a swift reminder of the friend standing next to the couple.

Spencer pushes Max back and smiles to not hurt the man's feelings, his eyes searching out Morgan's immediately afterwards. Morgan isn't watching though- he's turned his back completely, lightly talking to the man beside them.

"Time's up, ladies!" A guard calls from the doors. The men start lining up at the exit and drying off. Max's hand slips into Spencer's before he pulls them along with the others. Fuentes's eyes meet Spencer's and the set of orbs hold something Spencer has seen plenty of times in his field of work- interest. The kind that leads to obsession. The kind that leads to fatalities.

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"Was it good at least, Pretty Boy?" Morgan asks back in the confines of their cell. The agent had crawled up on his bunk once they got back and sighed with contentment at being there.

"I guess." Reid answers nonchalantly. He's actually replaying the feeling of Max's kiss over and over again in his head, never wanting to forget it. He can still feel the tongue in his mouth, the hands on his scalp, and the light breath on his face.

Morgan snorts light-heartedly and Reid gently makes his way into his bunk. The adrenaline from the kiss has left him so drunken that when the buzzer for dinner goes off, Spencer doesn't bother getting up. Morgan goes without him, not giving a second glance. The man's demeanor is one that Reid can't describe other than saying it's one of absence. The older man seems to be too deep in his mind, his body moving fluidly as if the routine has been carved out in his mind.

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He's being slammed against a wall, scalding water splashing down his body.

"No'ody to stop me now, is 'ere?" A crude voice says.

The danger, the UnSubs (as Reid's mind automatically characterizes), is just a mere arm length away, hands in fists. The sight of the mermaid tattoo should clue the doctor into what to expect, but his mind is blank.

Fuentes turns Reid around, his fingers digging into the flesh of Reid's naked hips so hard he's sure a bruise will be forming soon. The tile wall against Reid's face burns like a lighted firework against skin.

Reid wants to scream for Morgan but his voice is locked away into his throat, the padlock not seeming to have a key for the shout to escape.

Something hard is pressing against Spencer's lower back. The feeling springs tears to the doctor's eyes and inconceivable fear to his heart.

"SPENCER."

The voice has the doctor sitting up so fast that his forehead cracks off the bunk above him. He groans, falling back down, tears streaming down his face from the traces the dream left behind.

Two strong, soothing hands pull Reid from the bunk and set him down on the ground. Morgan's arms are around him soon after, one just holding onto his frail body while the other tries massaging the pain away from Reid's head.

"Shhh, it's okay, kid. Calm down. It's all okay." Morgan says.

Reid tries hard to push away the dream of Fuentes assaulting him in the showers, wishing he could tell himself it was just a dream. But it wasn't- not exactly. Fuentes has every opportunity to hurt him, a man did assault him in the showers, and Morgan won't always be there to protect him. Prison has stripped what dignity and safety Reid had and has thrown him into a seemingly never ending life of bars, bad food, scary men, and violation.

Reid's knees automatically curl up to his chest to protect himself further as he leans into Morgan. The young doctor opens his eyes and they go straight into the cell across the hall.

In that cell is a man that watches the two agents on the floor, his eyes gleaming like black coals that had just been lit. Fuentes isn't just a ghost enforcing fear, he's real. Very real.

"Don't look at him, kid." Morgan whispers. Reid rests his head back on Morgan's shoulder and closes his eyes. "It's just you and me now, okay?" Exhaustion is taking it's toll. It's not the physical kind of tiredness, it's the mental kind. The type one gets from visiting Hell and finding their way back.

As his mind drifts off, a warm sensation is on Reid's cheek, followed by a light breath before it's gone.

The young doctor would swear on any other day of his life that no, his best friend did not just kiss him. But today- he can't be sure of anything.  
And when he wakes up the next day, still sprawled out on Morgan the genius still clueless. The safety in his heart at the warm body next to him puts a stop to all his rationalizing. Morgan's face is resting gently against Reid's head his breath even enough to rustle his hair.

For the sake of fueling his streak of utter impulsive tendencies, Reid lightly rolls his face upwards until his mouth is at the corner of Morgan's. He presses his lips to the other mans as softly as he can, relishing in the smooth skin.

The poor young doctor is unaware of the eyes that have stayed awake, watching him all night long, from straight across the hall.


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 10

"C'mon, man, you know what today is." Morgan's voice calls, one strong hand shaking Spencer's shoulder. As the doctor awakens from his blissful nothingness called sleep, he groans. Yes, today is sure to be the best day Reid has had in a long time, but it sure doesn't make him want to drag himself out of bed.

"Caldwell didn't say what time we leave." Reid mumbles.

"Then let's be prepared for whenever." Morgan answers cheerfully as he gets up from the edge of Spencer's bed and sets about to brushing his teeth.

The previous day had been uneventful other than the constant hurt flooding the two men's body. The soreness left behind, they'd agreed, was worse than the actual beating. Neither bothered going for meals yesterday or to their yard time. Spencer had spoken up to Morgan about how the CIA probably won't approve of their time spent in their cells, but the agent shook his head. Morgan reminded his colleague of how none of them are in "this hell hole" or "having beasts attack them everyday".

Now that the day of the hospital visit has finally arrived, Spencer somewhat wishes it hadn't. It's not that he doesn't want to see his coworkers/family, but because he doesn't want them to see him. Not like this- bruised, broken, and scared.

Morgan, on the other hand, is practically bouncing off the walls. He lays on the ground and does a few sets of push ups, the smile hardly falling from his face all the while.

As Spencer's feet hit the cold, cement floor, he can feel the eyes on him from across the hall. Every time he leaves his bed he knows they're watching. From when he brushes his teeth, uses the toilet, or even paces the small cell for exercise. Fuentes had even stayed behind from meals and yard time to watch Spencer, his terrified cell mate being forced into staying as well.

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When the buzzer goes off for breakfast, Morgan pulls Spencer along without taking the sounds of protest into consideration. Spencer even tries pulling his arm away when he notices how Fuentes gets in line for meal time as well. Through all his small fighting motions, Spencer keeps hissing at Morgan to release the grip on his good arm before it breaks too.

"You need food, kid." Morgan says finally with a long sigh. He only lets go when the cells are all locked once more and the line of convicts is slowly but steadily moving towards the cafeteria. "You're probably are so hungry, you don't even know you're hungry."

"Am not." Spencer mumbles under his breath. Morgan chuckles, helping Spencer along with a light pat on the shoulder.

The cafeteria's lights hurt his eyes more so than usual. The tables seem fuller, but he thinks back to two days prior and realizes it's just his mind playing tricks. Markey calls out for the two, sending a wave as they get in line for food. The cooks dumping the food on trays shove them harshly, not listening to those inmates trying to sweet talk for an extra serving.

This morning, the food looks to be undercooked eggs with a slice of toast. Spencer wrinkles his nose at the sight before following Morgan to the table. He takes the toast for himself and slips his tray down to Markey before the man has the chance to ask. Morgan shakes his head in disapproval, and Spencer pretends not to notice. As the toast is being chewed in his mouth, Spencer zones out. In his mind, he's wondering how his coworkers joke about how much money is being saved on coffee nowadays. Garcia's probably planning some grand "welcome home" party for them and Henry's probably wondering why he's not around to baby sit on JJ's date night with Will that occurs every Saturday.

"How I've missed you…" A voice says gently in his ear. Spencer's head snaps to the side, only to have his lips be met with Max's. The kiss is effortless, affectionate, and so comforting all at once. The curly haired convict takes the vacant seat where Markey was sitting minutes prior.

"I've been staying in my cell-" Spencer says, biting his lips. He doesn't feel comfortable with explaining himself to Yates, but does anyway for the sake of the CIA.

"You'll be having that arm fixed today, right?"

The question catches Reid off guard and he ends up shrugging, feigning some confusion. "Is today a hospital day?"

Max nods, taking Spencer's broken wrist in his own two hands and gently massaging. His first instinct is to expect pain, but the slow motion is causing pleasure in the sore limb. Rather than pulling away, his arm is practically falling dead into the other man's hands.

"Keep yourself out of trouble," Max grins, planting a kiss on the tender wrist before picking himself up and retreating to his table.

"He's really into you." Morgan observes aloud. Markey sits back in his seat, grumbling about having to stand aside.

"You should've just asked him to move." Spencer says to Markey. It wasn't really a genuine suggestion, just one to let the man know he's not ignored.

"No thank you, I like my face the way it is." The scrawny man grunts. Reid grimaces, trying to picture Max as a violent madman. It just doesn't work out, somewhere between those gentle eyes and light touch.

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The guards come for Morgan and Reid nearly an hour later while they're pacing their cell. It's in the infirmary that the two are patted down, forced to change, then double checked. Three other men are making the trip, their injuries easily guessed. One's limping, his leg swollen. Another winces and keeps a tight hold on his assumedly dislocated shoulder. The other has a wrap, similar to Spencer's, keeping his arm together. A shiver runs down Spencer's spine and he's suddenly grateful for his broken wrist. He'd take it over a broken ulna any day.

Caldwell joins the five other guards who assist the group to the van. They're chained together in a neat row, much like they were on the way to the prison. Morgan's thigh is pressed against Spencer's in order to distance himself from the guy next to him and Spencer hates how much he's enjoying it. Though he's seated next to the door, the genius finds himself leaning into Morgan.

The men around them lean back and close their eyes, each exhibiting signs of true pain. Reid recalls the feeling of a bullet piercing his knee cap and winces.

"You okay?" Morgan whispers. It's so quiet that Reid thinks he made it up. When he looks to the older man, though, the worry in his eyes let him know it was real. He nods and they keep the eye contact as Morgan slowly slips his cuffed hands over to Reid's, their fingers intertwining.  
They stayed like that, being slightly intimate, all the way to the hospital. When the doors open up and they're ordered out, they both reluctantly let go. Caldwell and the other guard lead them into the hospital, warning them against any acts that'd be rewarded with hits or a shock.

The hospital is the friendliest thing the agents have seen in what feels like forever. Light green walls, vases, pretty nurses, T.V.'s playing softly, and the occasional bleep of a monitor.

Reid and Morgan are taken with Caldwell, the other three left in the hands of the other guard. They take a trip down the right wing rather than the left with the others, a doctor following along, showing something to Caldwell. He takes a pen and scribbles something on the doctor's clipboard that has him nodding in understanding. Clearly, this man had been briefed before their visit.

Morgan and Reid are led to a room labeled as "surgery". It's quite large, two beds sitting in the middle and all the medical equipment pushed aside. Caldwell turns and uncuffs the pair, his mouth flying a mile a minute.

"We have doctors and nurses here that used to be involved with CIA business. This is normal protocol for them. Your fellow agents are being brought in through the back. The other guard here is in on this, he's another undercover."

"Thanks, man." Morgan says sincerely.

"I'll have a doctor in here soon to fix your arm." Caldwell says, ignoring Morgan and staring at Reid. When he gets no response, he turns on his heels and leaves the room.

Morgan is about to say something to his companion, but then the door bursts open and Garcia's hurrying at them, arms wide open. Two large bags are hanging off her arms, which sparks both men's interest. They stand and go to her, the group of three huddled together as the rest of the team files in. She's mumbling something but neither man can tell what.

"Come again, Baby Girl?" Morgan chuckles as they pull away. Prentiss and JJ come forwards for their hugs next, being gentled on the battered men.

"I said, what the hell happened to you guys?!" Garcia answers, an angered tone leaking into her voice.

"Prison fights." Reid answers, shrugging his shoulders. JJ holds onto him the longest, whispering a hello from Henry in his ear. They're both given a pat from Rossi and a small smile from Hotch.

"You guys are making so much progress," Their unit chief says. In his hands are two large cups of coffee that he passes onto his agents.

"Enough prison and CIA garbage." Morgan scoffs between fast gulps of the coffee. "Now, what does my girl have for me?"

"Cupcakes. Cookies. Teddy bears. Oh, and for the genius-" Garcia is laying the things out as she goes onto the hospital beds, pausing only to present Reid with an envelope. He has to hand his coffee off to Emily to be able to open it. It's labeled from "H", it's contents being a get well soon card, the inside scribbled with drawings. The word "well" is creatively crossed out, the word "home" taking it's place.

"Your godson misses you and Sherlock times a million. I tried reading to him but he hated it. Said I can't imitate Watson's voice right." Garcia gushes on.

"Of course you can't." Reid mumbles, mainly to himself, easily tossing the card on the bed to take back his coffee. The warm drink has his mind thrumming with pleasure.

A knock at the door ensues, then in comes Caldwell, leading a doctor in. The man is dressed in scrubs beneath his long white coat. His face is aged, a white beard growing in on his chin to make up for the lack of hair on his head.

Morgan is digging into the cookies as Garcia is coddling him, kissing each bruise on his face.

"Doctor Reid, a pleasure to meet you." The older gentlemen says. "I'm Dr. Rhodes."

Reid nods his head and allows the man to unwrap his wrist. Hotch is watching closely so the genius does his best to mask his pain at each prod the doctor gives his wrist.

"The tip of your radius must have been snapped off." Dr. Rhodes observes, "I'd like an x-ray to be completely sure."

Reid shoves a cookie into his mouth as the doctor is explaining the consent forms. Spencer signs them without a second glance is led out of the room. Caldwell follows, whistling to himself, observing the nearly empty corridor. When they reach the end, they're led inside to the x-ray room. Rhodes tells Caldwell to wait outside, fighting his stubbornness with the protocols. He wins out in the end.

Reid doesn't pay much attention when Rhodes locks the door. Nor does he notice the look in the man's eyes as he comes towards him, a bulge in his coat pocket.

"I place my arm like this, right?" Spencer says, placing it straight in front of the x-ray machine's tip. He knows he's right, just asking for the sake of courtesy.

"Actually," Rhodes says, voice low, hands dipping into his pockets as he comes close. "I have something else in mind."

"Excuse me-"

The doctor lunges forward, his hand coming out of his coat pocket with a small syringe in hand. Reid grabs the hand before it reaches his neck with both of his own hands. His broken wrist throbs but the adrenaline keeps the genius from letting go.

Dr. Rhodes lifts his free hand and crushes Spencer's broken wrist. The agent lets out a scream of agony, his leg kicking out at the dangerous man. He's trying to think straight, remember what he should do, but his mind is swirling in pain.

The door is being pounded on by Caldwell, obscenities being shouted in time with the falling fists to the wood.

The pain wins out as Rhodes avoids Reid's kick and sends his own foot flying into the agent's crotch. A cheap shot, but it has him crumpling to the ground, nonetheless.

He tries to squirm away between gasps of pain, but the old man has Spencer cornered. The unknown substance in the syringe is stabbed into the crook of his neck.

The room is dimming around him, the sounds of Caldwell's anger drifting off. It's like the world has slowed down, darkening each second. When Spencer's eyes shut, he notices how all his pain has been taken away.

He thinks he hears the sound of the door being kicked in, but the darkness takes him away before he can determine the fact to be true.


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 11

The room Spencer's in is so cold. His skin feels as if it's freezing gradually, one cell at a time. All the reading he's ever done on frostbite crosses his mind as well as facts on hypothermia. Neither set into a person's body the way this coldness is settling into his own.

A small fire seems to ignite somewhere. It takes effort, but the genius soon pinpoints the fire as coming from his forearm. As minutes that feel like hours pass, the shape of fingers connecting to a palm is starting to click together. It's a large hand, much to big and calloused to be feminine.

His ears are ringing intensely as the fog is slowly being lifted from his mind. The doctor wanting x-rays, the door locking, that hot flash of pain in his groin-

Spencer feels as if a train has just hit him. His body goes on high alert, remembering the danger he was facing before his eyes slid shut. He sits up, setting off multiple noises around him, some from humans, others from machines. When his eyes open the scene before him makes no sense.

"Hey- whoa, calm down, it's okay."

Reid's mind catalogues the voice to be Morgan's, and the warm fire is back to the surface of his skin- it being his friend's comforting hand.

"Wh's-" Spencer tries to voice his confusion but his throat is still stuck together, the ice not having melted from there. Around him is a standard hospital room, wires hooking him up to multiple machines. Two guards stand inside the room, watching Reid and Morgan closely. Before him sits Hotch and Prentiss, their chairs on either side of the bed's foot. Emily is fast asleep, her head rolled back against the wall and Hotch is watching Reid, his lips moving though Spencer can't make sense of the words.

"I, I c't-"

"Shhh, we know." Morgan says. The smooth voice cuts through the confusion like magic. "Sleep it off, we've got you."

Reid doesn't listen to his coworker; instead he tries to find the source of the coldness. Over his body is two thick sheets though he can't seem to feel them. His face is exposed to the room's draft and it's as if he's laying naked in an ice box.

"Cold." Reid mumbles.

"It's nearly 85 degrees in here." Morgan sighs. One of his hands reach up to wipe back sweat from his own forehead.

Spencer is trying to find comfort in the guards' faces at the door. They're both looking at each other, sharing a hushed conversation, peaking out the door's window every so often. Both are dressed in suits though the jackets have been tossed aside on a chair and their sleeves are rolled up. Guns protrude from the haltered waistbands. Government approved guns- they must be from the CIA.

All of his energy disappears right then. Piecing together the agents, room, friends, and past events took all the enthusiasm and alertness right from him. His eyes are shutting before he even realizes he gave them permission.

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This time, there is no coldness. No flame on his arm to scare him. His body feels eerily light. Slowly he allows his five senses to come back to him. This feeling is one he knows all too well- it's when he oversleeps on Saturdays and his body refuses anymore time to be shut off. Though usually on Saturdays the smell of coffee lingers and the discovery channel is quietly playing from the TV. Right now, Reid can practically smell the alpha males in the room. It's their tension and superiority as well as traces of aftershave and high end cologne.

When his eyes open again, a different two men are at the doors. Hotch and Emily are no where to be found, though light breaths are coming from his left, just out of his line of vision. When he turns his head and sees Morgan, the agent gives him a big grin.

"Feeling better?"

"Tell me what happened." Spencer orders, scooting himself into a better sitting position.

"The doctor wasn't actually 'Dr. Rhodes,' it was a guy impersonating him. Caldwell never met the guy so he had no idea. He had no reason to be suspicious- the guy knew the floor, room, time, and code word the CIA had set up with Dr. Rhodes a few days ago. They found the real doctor knocked out cold in his car at his house."

"But- why?"

"We don't know just yet. Maybe he found out about the meeting and wanted to rebel against the government. Or he knew every little detail and is working for a CIA mole that's tied to the trafficking ring. Too soon to be sure."

"Where is he right now?"

"The CIA took him in for questioning. Rossi and Hotch went along. Caldwell broke the door down and banged him up pretty bad. Knew I liked that guy for some reason-"

"What was in the syringe?"

Morgan seems almost taken aback by Reid being able to recall the events of the attack properly. He reaches for a paper off the desk next to him. "Something that started with a p-"

"Penthol?"

"How do you know that?"

"Penthol is a heavy sedative. It's one of the three combined drugs used in lethal injection, the other two being-"

"Pancuronium bromide and potassium chloride?" Morgan reads off the page in his hand. Reid stares at him, his mind going weary.

"He planned on executing me, right then and there?"

"The bastard didn't, that's what's important." The older agent says, tossing the sheet back on the desk and swallowing hard. They're both thinking of how close of it call it was- if the door had just been thicker, if Caldwell had taken a walk for coffee while waiting, if he hadn't heard Reid's struggle- the profiler would've been dead within minutes.

"What time is it?"

Morgan checks his watch. "Seven o'clock."

"That's it?" Reid rubs his eyes.

"…In the morning."

"What? How are we even still here, the prison-"

"Garcia popped in some bull about me having major blood pressure issues and the doctors wanting to keep you overnight for observation because of anesthesia when they reset your wrist."

Just having been reminded of his injury, Reid looks down to see it wrapped in a heavy white cast.

"They figured it'd be better to do it when you're out." Morgan shrugs. "Garcia left you a few things…"

The letter from Henry, a baggie of cookies, and a small stuffed animal from Garcia is placed in his lap. Reid laughs to himself and inspects the teddy bear closely. He knows he can't take it with him into the prison, but he feels like the little stuffed animal would brighten his cell up immensely.

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Aaron Hotchner watches as the two CIA agents pace the room while another sits calmly in a chair in front of the man that attacked his agent. Well, at the moment,_ their agent_- the CIA has a claim to Reid for the time being.

"Oliver Jennings." The calm one says. Their interview tactic is one Hotch favors the most. "Divorced from Alicia Trammel one year ago, lost custody to your son Cody."

"She took your dog too." One of the pacing agents chuckles. "Oh, how that must burn."

"None of that's as bad as when he lost his job last month," Another pacing agent says. He stops abruptly, pounds his hands down on the table and gets in Oliver's face. "What was the problem again? You creeped out your female patients? How did you do that exactly? Ask them unnecessary questions, check them over a little too intently?"

"I did nothing of the sort."

The still pacing one snorts. Jennings's jaw clenches. Aaron watches through the interview glass at how the tension starts its slow build.

"So, your wife, your kids, your dog, your job- that's a lot of things to lose." The calm one says. "Did you just snap? Decide to do something that'd teach the world not to mess with you? Was this just an attack against the hospital?"

"Yes, it was." Oliver says. His voice is too light, his attention too divided.

"So, we're meant to believe that you_ just so happened_ to walk in on a secret case for the CIA,_ just happening_ to know full details and the code, as well pick out their most important agent as a target? You just happened to have such a dangerous drug on hand and Dr. Rhode's I.D.?"  
Jennings stays silent.

"What were you going to do after you killed him? Just plan to walk out past Caldwell?"

Jennings leans forward, all his attention on the serious agent in front of him rather than the one lingering over his shoulder, or the other one playing the friendly part. His action shows his commitment.

"I have no intentions of telling you a thing. So let's stop wasting time here- book me already."

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Hotch watches as Reid pulls his jumpsuit at the shoulders, trying to loosen it's hold on his neck. The cast just barely fits through the sleeves. Caldwell comes forwards and places handcuffs around his good arm and links them through Morgan's set.

"Reid- did anyone at the prison know about you coming to get your arm fixed yesterday?"

"No." Reid answers. Tingling in the back of his mind says that can't be right but the answer isn't coming to mind right away like it should.

Even as he's saying goodbye to his unit chief and following Caldwell out to the back of the van, the genius can't think of why his mind is throwing off warnings. Something just isn't right.

It's then, as they're pulling into the prison that the spark is ignited in Reid's memory.

_"You'll be having that arm fixed today, right?"_

The question had been asked in between uncharacteristic affection that Yates had shown him. Suddenly, that affection doesn't seem like it was given out of love. It was given when searching for confirmation.

Did his boyfriend plan to have him killed?


End file.
